Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files
by Nyghtvision
Summary: Just what it says on the label: Humor. Suspense. Flamingos. A strange visitor from Japan. The Dark Side of the Tooth Fairy. Plot should thicken to the consistency of tiramisu. Add a pinch of Bob, bake for an hour and read.
1. Action Fairy

Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files  
By Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
Chapter One: Action Fairy  
  
Author's Note: This is the re-issue of the same chapter, with no changes except for some major formatting - Fanfiction.net, beloved as it is, couldn't handle my formatting and settled it into one block of completely unreadable text. Thanks to Sashka for your advice on how to do this, and thanks to everyone else for your patience.  
  
Disclaimer: I am a squid. Meep! Meep! Meep! But other than that, nothing I could possibly say here should come as a surprise, so I'm going to save my time and yours and let you fill in the disclaimer at your own discretion. Enjoy! And yes, before you ask, there are flamingos, but not blatantly like last time. Subtly. Subtle flamingos.  
  
You come out at night  
That's when the energy comes  
And the Dark Side's light  
And the vampires roam  
--"Building a Mystery" by Sarah McLachlan  
  
Wednesday night  
Northern Wales  
_____________  
  
It was a clear and starry night, as opposed to the violently dark and stormy ones so beloved of writers who are trying to create a spooky atmosphere without paying too much for special effects. The summer air was as sharp as a memory of winter, the stars so brightly engraved in the blackened sky that they seemed, for once, touchable.  
  
In a small, middle-class house, a small boy lay sleeping. He was about seven years old, his top front teeth missing. Freshly lost, they left a bloody gap, which was stuffed with gauze. The bedroom window was opened and the curtains fluttered lightly in a sudden breeze.  
  
A barely perceptible heatshimmer darted through the window.   
  
The small boy turned over once, the gauze falling from his mouth to the floor.   
  
The heatshimmer left. This time, though, it carried something immensely valuable, a weapon of great potential -- but so simple.  
  
Somewhere, someone smiled.  
  
____________________  
Thursday night  
Shinjuku district of Tokyo, Japan  
____________________  
  
It was dark in the Land of the Rising Sun, but a pair of eyes saw clearly through the blackness. They were slanted, golden-green and strikingly fox-like, and they belonged to a savagely red-headed young man who lurked casually against a building. His spiky blood red hair covered a good deal of his face, except for the vibrant foxy eyes.  
  
Those half-feral eyes watched a group of teenagers enter a movie theater, talking quietly among themselves. They looked about his age, but he and they were nothing alike. He watched them for his own amusement; it was boring to be alone. He liked the city, although there were far too many humans in it.  
  
It was then that he noticed the heatshimmer. It wasn't even in the visible spectrum; no one else on the streets even noticed as they walked right past it. Vibrating, it floated steadily upwards, apparently aiming for a half-open apartment window.   
  
The young man with blood red hair noticed. He tilted his head and followed its invisible path. A shielded yosei. What are you doing in Japan, small one? Shouldn't you be in Eire, hiding from humans in your little underground city?  
  
He settled his battered leather bomber jacket over his shoulders as he watched, like a cat at a mousehole. Root-san… do you know about this?  
  
_________________  
Friday evening  
Holly's Apartment, Haven City  
_________________  
  
Holly came home from a long day at work in a rare good mood. She didn't know why, but she intended to enjoy it.   
  
She stood outside the door of her small apartment just off Police Plaza, humming and trying to pick the lock. This was because for the past six months her housekey had been missing, presumed dead, and she really wasn't in the mood to have a new one made. All that crap in Foaly's office about losing some "valuable" piece of door-opening technology. Fwah. It wasn't like it was so important anyway -- what did she have in her apartment that anyone would want to steal? An Atlantean bogglefish, some random unfashionable bits of clothing, a few music disks and a used vidscreen. Fwah, again.  
  
Cheerfully, Holly poured a vial of fairy acid on the lock and watched it melt with the manic joy of a pyromaniac at the Great Chicago Fire. After a nasty day at work, such fun it was to come home and wantonly destroy her own door. She'd repair it later, using some scrap metal and duct tape. For now... a quick hello to Bob, check her messages, and curl up on the futon to watch pirated reruns of "Real TV" or some other pointless human television show.   
  
She twisted the door open and entered her apartment, pulling a roll of duct tape from somewhere on her person (Where does she keep it all, anyway?) and casually duct-taping the door shut. There was something to be said for humans, the creators of Duct Tape. Silky-smooth on one side, so deliciously sticky on the other... gray as a goblin's behind... such an invigorating sound when ripped...  
  
Oh, Holly really had to unwind.   
  
She pulled the stiff laces of her boots, knotted carelessly into impossible tangles, with one hand as she pressed the blinking "Receive Messages" button with the other. The precarious balancing act almost caused her to fall over, but she caught herself in time on the edge of her rather battered countertop.   
  
The first message began to play. Holly didn't even need to look at the activated vidscreen to see who had left it. The slightly nasal, waaay-too-annoying voice could only belong to one person. "Stuff it up your grandmother's nose, Chix, I'm NOT that kind of a girl." She fumbled for the "Delete" button, wishing that instead of just deleting the message, she could delete the whole personage from her life. Him and his dirty little mind. Ick, again.  
  
Holly wiggled her toes merrily as she flung her boots around in whatever direction pleased her mind. They wouldn't break any windows -- fairy glass was designed to hold up to more than that -- so she really didn't care where they landed. As the second message began to play, she sauntered over to her fish tank and popped open the lid.  
  
Bob the Atlantean bogglefish boggled up at her with his inch-wide eyes, his burbling mouth set in a perpetual expression of complete and utter surprise. Seeing his owner's face made him boggle even harder, thrashing his ridiculously small purple fins and gaping in astonishment at the pointy, pretty features looming above. His fat, round body bobbed up and down, hence his uncreative name. Holly suppressed a giggle at the shocked expression on his fishy face. She dropped a dead stink worm in the tank for him to boggle at, and then eat later when it no longer surprised him.  
  
The other message on her vidscreen's answering system was also from Chix. Without waiting to listen to what the sprite had to say THIS time, she threw the can of Bob's food at the "Delete" button. It hit the mark perfectly --- you don't graduate from the LEP Academy without at least some target skills -- and bounced off into the kitchenette, spilling dried stink worms all over the floor. Aw, now she'd have to clean those up.   
  
As she trudged across the apartment to do just that, Holly suddenly thought that she would like a bath. A nice hot bubble bath. But before that, a glass of freezing-cold filtered water with... lemon. And... some dancing.  
  
She pounced on her boom box, a small, sleek piece of fairy technology that could blast out her music at incredible volume. Now, let's see... which one to play...  
  
Holly leafed through her collection of music disks, which were brilliant iridescent plaques, compact, slender, and completely superior to clumsy human CD's. Finally she picked Fairypop and the Heat Sensors, a rising heavy-rock group with roots right here in Haven. Soon, the apartment was blasting with "Action Fairy" as Holly wiggled around to the tune, singing and drinking water, the ice cubes in her glass jingling discordantly.  
  
"This fairy is bored, no sat-is-fac-tion, gonna get me some real real ac-tion, see me JUMP, JUMP wiggle and swaaay, gonna break some hearts todaaay..."  
  
Setting down her glass on the counter, Holly grasped the hem of her LEP uniform shirt, readying herself for the next verse as she sang along raucously.  
  
"I say, let's JUMP, JUMP! Let's, heat up this place with some action, this ac-tion fai-ry says JUMP, JUMP, I say, gonna take off this SHIRT, this SHIRT, see what they have to saaaay..."  
  
Holly ripped off her shirt and flung it in some random direction. It landed over the vidscreen. In her sports bra and LEP cargo pants, she continued to dance as Fairypop and the Heat Sensors roared into a frenzy. The water in Bob's tank shook and rippled with the noise and dancing and the bogglefish stared widely in surprise.  
  
"Let's JUMP, JUMP..."   
  
The vidscreen console blinked and beeped. Incoming call.  
  
Still dancing, Holly checked the ID panel warily. If it was a telemarketer, Chix, or one of Frond's Witnesses, she would pretend to be dead.   
  
The panel said, in black block letters, "Kelp Residence." Blinking, she pressed the "Receive" button and pulled her shirt off the screen, bunching it into a ball and tossing it into the opposite corner of the room. Trouble Kelp's craggy-handsome face appeared on the battered vidscreen.  
  
"Oh, hey there," she said casually, turning the music down a notch. Pity, just when it was getting to the good part.  
  
He blinked. Several times. "Holly..."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You're not wearing a shirt."  
  
She checked. She wasn't. "Oh, yeah. I was doing some, er..."  
  
"Dancing," Trouble smirked, beginning to regain his composure. "Action Fairy" continued to blare, reaching the REALLY good part. The one with the smashing electric harp.  
  
"Yes, well, I like to unwind... long day at work, you know, privacy of my own home..." Holly trailed off and dove out of the vidscreen's view. She rummaged about for a few minutes, found a blanket, and draped it over her shoulders. "What's up?"  
  
"Oh, I was just wondering if you'd be stopping by the Flamingo tonight," Trouble said casually. A normal question - LEP officers often hung out at The Netherworld Flamingo, a rather eccentric karaoke-bar-grille-and-club establishment in Downtown Haven, just a short distance from Holly's apartment. "It's karaoke night, you know."  
  
She laughed easily, a sight no human had ever seen. White teeth, flashing golden eyes. Holly could be beautiful when she laughed but she didn't do it often. "I was thinking of spending a quiet night at home with my fish, but... why not? Who else is going?"  
  
"Well... you and me."  
  
"Wha- just - Kelp, is this a date?"  
  
"No..." On the vidscreen, he fidgeted, flushing. "It's... kind of like a... Well, maybe I shouldn't be telling you this."  
  
"Tell me!" Eyes glinting, smelling a mystery, Holly pounced on the screen, dropping the blanket around her shoulders to accidentally reveal that black sports bra. Poor Trouble… he could be scarred for life. "Tell me tell me tell me! If you don't, I'll... I'll... I'll transfer Chix to your unit so you'll have to deal with him AND Grub. Mwah."  
  
"It's a dare!" Trouble blurted fearfully, jerking backwards from the screen as if she could actually leap through it and pummel him. Oh, that was a sight. Holly almost purred. She was so good, oh yes... "A dare?"  
  
"Yeah... well..." Making dismissive gestures with his hands, he said, not making eye contact, "Some of the junior officers made a bet that no one could ask Captain Short out on a date and actually get her to say yes... and then return to tell the tale... unharmed. And undemoted. Don't laugh."  
  
Too late.   
  
"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!"  
  
Bobbing up and down in his tank, Bob the Atlantean Bogglefish stared at his owner, who was pummeling the floor with her heels and howling, tears streaming down her face. He did the only thing a bogglefish can do in such a situation. Huge, cartoonish eyes wide with complete astonishment, tiny purple fins quivering in surprise, he stared and bobbed and boggled.  
  
Ten minutes later, Holly was gone.   
  
The vidscreen beeped and blinked. Surprised beyond comprehension, Bob turned around in his tank and stared hugely at it, gulping wetly in shock. It rang several more times before Holly's voice came on with the prerecorded answering message.  
  
"Hey, this is the Short residence. Obviously I'm not home right now, or you wouldn't be hearing this, unless of course this is Chix. If it is… quit flooding my answering machine and get a life…or stick your head in a troll… or witness me getting royally pissed off. Everyone else… you know the routine."   
  
The tinny old speakers on Holly's used-and-abused communicator filled with a voice that would have been very familiar to Bob, if the fish paid attention to things like that. It was a male's voice, authoritative, tough, quite deep, husky and gravelly, a smoker's voice. It was also a little different than usual -- urgent, and strained.  
  
"Holly? It's Root. Holly, are you there? Pick up. D'Arvit, Holly, it's important..."  
  
Bob quivered, stunned, his eyes wide as saucers and his fishy cheeks puffing in and out.  
  
Commander Root said a few unprintable things, which made Bob's eyes almost pop out in incredulity. "Holly. As soon as you get this message, get your rear down here. D'Arvit, Holly... I'm not kidding."  
  
*BEEP*  
  
The message ended. All alone, in the empty apartment, Bob the bogglefish bobbed up and down, completely astonished.  
  
_____________________  
The Netherworld Flamingo  
_____________________  
  
It was dark, lit by erratic strobe lights and the glowing indigo forms of spectra-flamingo statues in the eaves, the high ceiling dotted with glow-in-the-dark stars. It was loud, the deep bass beat of "Dirty Dwarf" by Squidgetoad throbbing through everyone's eardrums. It was, on this Friday night, the place to be, for LEP and civilians alike. It was The Netherworld Flamingo, karaoke-bar-grille-restaurant-theatre-club, whichever the proprietor, an eccentric young female elf named Caspian, currently felt like calling it.   
  
Right now Caspian was serving ginger beer to a pair of centaurs, a pencil tucked behind one blatantly pointed ear, her chestnut brown hair swinging loose around her shoulders. She winked as Trouble and Holly sauntered in through the swinging door, which was flanked by two enormous glow-in-the-dark statues of squirrels. "Sit down there," she mouthed, pointing to the only empty booth.  
  
Somewhere near the ceiling, fireworks were going off, and miniature penguins frolicked among the happy little fairies packing the dance floor. Glass squid hung suspended from the high ceiling, and tiny brilliant parrots shot back and forth, squawking out the chef's menu, the prices of various drinks, and nonsensical one-liners ripped off of human television shows. The Flamingo didn't toe the fine line between normalcy and stark raving insanity; Caspian just tromped right over it like a troll with a toothache. Still, it was the only establishment for miles underground that didn't mind LEP officers, drunk on Sprite and other People-endorsed soft alcohol, slurring insults at each other and picking out arguments with Neutrino 2000's. When the B'wa Kell took over the city last year, the Flamingo had been torn up in the crossfire, but the holes in the walls were now safely duct-taped over and were now used as ventilation.  
  
It was very, very busy tonight.  
  
Holly and Trouble squeezed into their booth, panting from wrestling their way through the crowd. A pixie darted up to them, dressed in black leather, her hair covered by a luminous radiation-blue wig. "G'morning, Cap'n's, the usual?" she chirped, balancing a tray of wine glasses on her head and a notepad and pencil in her tiny hands.  
  
"Sure," Holly said absently, casting her gaze over the thronged People on the dance floor, in the booths, or perched cheekily on the Silly-String-and-octopus-festooned steel rafters. She barely listened as Trouble placed his order. What if someone saw her here? She'd never been on a real date before... okay, this wasn't even a real date, it was a dare, but still...  
  
"There they are, laughing at us," Trouble growled out of the corner of his mouth at her. Holly looked in the direction he was pointing to. His younger brother Grub and several other junior officers were sitting around a large table in the corner, watching the two of them and giggling uncontrollably. Each had a tall glass of tunnel-slime-green Mountain Dew, with long florescent novelty straws to drink out of. For some reason, which Holly felt no need to explore, there was a pink plastic toilet seat on Vice Corporal Fallacy's head. Perhaps the Monty-Python atmosphere of the Flamingo had eroded his mind. Perhaps he was just naturally stupid, or weird, or both.   
  
A small parrot careened past, pulled a barrel roll, and landed on their table in an explosion of red and purple feathers. "Join the dark side," it squawked, "And I will spare your life."  
  
Holly stared at it, shook her head slowly, and brushed the bird off the table.  
  
"Expect the Mackerel," the parrot huffed, and lurched into the air again.  
  
The pixie waitress returned, with a Coke on the rocks for Holly and something fizzy and dubious-looking for Trouble.  
  
"Kelp?"  
  
"Eh?" Still glaring at his brother, he jerked his head back to his 'date.'  
  
"I can't stand it any longer. Every time we come here with the LEP to hang out, you always ask for 'the usual.' And you always get THAT." She pointed the finger of accusation at his drink, which was purplish-brown, the bubbles in it whizzing up, rocketing down, and bouncing violently off each other, or fizzing noisily up to the frothing top in a chaotic lime-green cloud. Occasionally it seemed to roil pink, but it was hard to tell in this erratic light. "Now, Trouble, we've known each other for quite a long while. Since the Academy in fact. So I think I deserve to know... what the hell is it?"  
  
He stared at it. "This? Oh, it's just something Caspian does. Mountain Dew, Pepsi, Coke, grenadine, lukewarm hot cocoa, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, pepper, lemonade, vanilla, whipped cream, five tablespoons of white sugar, coffee, three tablespoons of colored sugar, and some fruit sherbet. It's not bad, actually. Try some?" Trouble offered her the glass.  
  
Holly picked her lower jaw off the floor, pulled her eyebrows off the ceiling, and arranged her features into a more composed look. "That's... disgusting."  
  
"No, it's not," he said, insulted, and took a swig. Holly watched it go down his throat with morbid fascination. "Why did I ask?"  
  
"I have no clue. Hey, is that Foaly?"  
  
Holly looked. The centaurs Caspian had been serving were both female, rather pretty as centaurs went. One was a sleek blonde with dappled flanks, the other a sultry black. Foaly, standing next to them, looked rather shaggy. Holly noticed the disparaging way the females looked at the singed-bald spots on the technician's headquarters. That fateful day in the Ops booth with Cudgeon was long past, but heroism notwithstanding, those lingering bald spots were indeed unattractive. Poor Foaly. Holly bit back a snicker. Maybe it would serve him right...  
  
The tips of Trouble's rather nice ears were tinged with red. As Holly turned her attention back to the table, she noticed them and was briefly puzzled. Either he was coming down with frostbite in the dead of summer, or...  
  
"Hey, Kelp, are you embarrassed to be here with me?"  
  
"What? Oh! Hell, no! I just - I-" Refusing to meet her eyes, the most gung-ho Captain of the LEP disappeared behind his glass of... ick.  
  
"Sorry to interrupt this potentially amusing conversation," smirked a voice above them, "But you've got a phone call, Captain Short. 'S your boss."  
  
The elf in question looked up at the black-clad form of Caspian, who tossed her a small cell phone. "Refill, Captain Kelp?" Caspian purred, leaning towards him. "You'll need it, if you keep hiding behind the glass every time she tries to start something interesting..." Holly gave her a Look, and the proprietor of the Flamingo sighed dramatically and spun off to create amusing confusion in some other corner of her restaurant. A small parrot bounced in her wake, screeching something incomprehensible about chickens, roads, and what happens when the two of them cross. Holly winced and plugged one of her proudly pointy ears.  
  
"Holly Short here. Can I--" The rest of her monotone was cut off by Root's bellow, like a maddened water buffalo with a megaphone. Wincing, she held the phone a safe distance away, which unfortunately was too close to Trouble for his comfort. There was a small wrestling match until it was decided that the phone would stay in the middle of the table, so both of them could have their eardrums blasted equally. Commander Root continued to rant incoherently, until Holly took her life in her hands, leaned forward into the cell phone, and said, slowly and distinctly, "Commander? Would you mind slowing down? We can't understand a bloody word you're saying."  
  
After some more token growling, he took a few deep breaths and did slow down, speaking slowly and distinctly.   
  
Neither of the two officers liked what he had to say.  
  
~~~~ Nyghtvision's Soapbox ~~~  
  
Yay! You got this far! Here's your complimentary baggie of peanuts. Can you believe I wrote this in one night. Ouch. **whimpers and rubs poor aching forehead** Well, I hope you readers will make this sacrifice of sleep worthwhile. Little button on bottom says "Submit Review." Click at your own discretion. Miscreants punished by flamingos. Oh, and before I forget: I own the title, Atlantean bogglefish, Bob, Fairypop and the Heat Sensors, The Netherworld Flamingo, Squidgetoad, and the song "Action Fairy," which I did write myself, although it isn't very inspired... I also kinda obviously own Caspian the bartender, who should not be deemed a Mary Sue as she only shows up in scenes with the Flamingo. If you think there's no point in Flamingo scenes, just let me know and I'll take it into consideration. Please don't use my concepts without asking, but if you feel the burning need to write a fic that contains an Atlantean bogglefish or "Action Fairy," let me know, and I'll be delighted to lend you whatever you want. I wholeheartedly appreciate everything you guys can provide in the form of rants, constructive criticism, sweet talk, fits of randomness, family recipes, and the like, and I do try to reply to everyone personally. Remember that your support really shapes an author's fic. Thanks again! Cheers!  
  
Random Parrot: Join the dark side and I will spare your life!  
  
…That, too.  
  
Yrs in the Netherworld, Caspian Nyghtvision 


	2. Tension Builds The Great KerSqlapt

Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files  
By Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
Chapter Two: Tension Builds (The Great Ker-Sqlapt)  
  
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and if I didn't get to email you in return, please don't feel left out. I do try very very hard to personally respond to everyone, but it gets difficult, since I'm can't be online much. Instead I gave a 'special thanks' at the end of this chapter. Sorry to be so impersonal, I have an Internet time limit. -.-;; Bob and I thank you very much, and wish you a happy chapter.  
  
Disclaimer: I own very, very little. (To prove her point, Caspian turns out her pockets and a little moth flutters out. She squishes the moth and continues.) Artemis Fowl, et al, is the sole creation and property of an ex-schoolteacher in Ireland who doesn't even know I exist. Thus I have the advantage over him. Mwah. All my characters and concepts are quite obviously mine, and if you use them without asking, you will be quite obviously be eaten by Nyghtvision flamingos. If you want to use anything of mine, just ask me first, and chances are good I'll say yes, and frolic around in a state of warm fuzziness. If you sue me for some bizarre reason, you won't get anything, except maybe the squished carcass of this here squished dead moth. Mwah, again. So sit back, relax and enjoy the... trip.  
  
  
I wanted to be the greatest at everything   
But I can't be  
And I wanted to be exempt from temptation  
But I can't be  
--- "I've Changed" by the Josh Jopplin Group  
  
""What I could do with ten like him," Artemis breathed. "Fort Knox would be a pushover."" --- Artemis Fowl, The Arctic Incident  
  
  
  
________________________  
National Bank of Ireland  
Friday night  
________________________  
  
Deep blue eyes watched the magnificent old building in utter, evil satisfaction. A truly inspiring piece of architecture; a walnut waiting to be cracked. Built in the 1800's, of course, stolid red brick, with its tall fluted pillars containing some semblance of Corinthian influence. Inspiring, ah yes, so very inspiring.  
  
A weary sigh rushed, a roar of static, through the small speakers of the radio headset set into his modified LEP helmet. "Artemis... quit drooling over it and get your skinny little butt over here."  
  
The fourteen-year-old sighed long-sufferingly. He swung his 'skinny little butt' out of the air-conditioned haven of the Bentley and into the slightly humid summer night, pressing a switch inside his helmet as he did so.  
  
The nightvision filter switched on, making his view of the world as bright as day, only washed over by a neon green color. Like seeing the world through a pan of lime Jell-O. Nightvision, he thought. One of the most useful inventions ever patented by man or fairy. It relegated the lucky user from blind intruder to the status of nocturnal predator.  
  
Walking quickly, keeping his head down, Artemis dodged behind a row of shrubbery located several hundred yards away from the bank. The stakeout point. Wincing as leaves brushed against his clothing, he slipped through a boxwood hedge, which had been subtly pruned back to allow access.   
  
Perched crosslegged on the ground, noisily chomping a granola bar, sat Mulch Diggums.  
  
"What are you doing?" Artemis hissed.  
  
Mulch looked down, examined himself carefully, then looked back up at his employer. "Sitting crosslegged on the ground," he whispered back, "Eating a granola bar. Why?"  
  
Artemis would have argued, but he knew from experience that that way, madness lay. Madness and a potential migraine. So instead he made a faint groaning noise, took off his helmet, and began to massage his temples. "Why did you call me? We agreed we would meet up only when absolutely necessary."  
  
"Haven't seen Butler in over twenty minutes," Mulch shrugged, dropping the wrapper on the ground and pulling out a Tootsie Roll. "Thought you might want to know. Excuse me for breathing." He began to scarf down the sticky chocolate like it was the last meal he would ever eat.   
  
Conscientiously, Artemis picked up the fallen wrapper between his fingertips, pocketing it with a grimace. "And you've tried contacting him on the radio."  
  
"He said he was going radio silent," the dwarf shrugged again, dropping the now-empty wrapper on the ground and pulling out yet another piece of junk food. This time it was a bag of Nachos. Briefly Artemis wondered where he got all this stuff... then remembered not to think about it... no, he must retain his sanity at all costs... just pick up the bloody wrapper and refrain from strangling the bloody dwarf... think of nice calming things. Go to the happy place. Go to the happy place. Go to the bloody happy place...  
  
"Hey, you all right?" Mulch wondered. "You look a little..."  
  
"This is the sixth time this has happened tonight," Artemis gritted. "I'm going back to the car," Artemis ground out. "Keep an eye out for Butler." Artemis growled. "If he's not back within five minutes, go looking for him." He pulled himself out of the bush -- ick, damp leaves... go to the *#%!!! happy place...  
  
"Hooo-kay." Mulch balled up the empty bag of Nachos and tossed it away, pulling out a can of soda and popping the lid. He really shouldn't be drinking on the job, but this was just stakeout, and he probably wasn't going to be suction-climbing any walls. No need to keep the ol' pores thirstier than they had to be. Crumpling the now-empty can with his stubby fingers, he tossed that aside and pulled out a package of Hostess Twinkies.  
  
Back in the car, Artemis took off his helmet, ran his fingers through his dark hair and began to bang his head against the front seat. The life of a criminal mastermind was NOT supposed to be like this. Moriarty didn't have to deal with these kinds of things, did he? No, the evil professor comfortably taught mathematics in a respectable high school while Sherlock Holmes did all the undignified running around and getting beat up. Of course, Moriarty wasn't a real person, and he DID end up dying in the end, but at least he didn't have to put up with kleptomaniac dwarves and their odd little... obsessions.   
  
Had it been a good idea to hire Mulch? In financial terms, yes. As a team, they had already broken into several banks and put aside quite a bit of money in discreet Swiss bank accounts. But on other terms...   
  
At least the elder Fowls didn't know about their son's employee, which was a very good thing. Living in an abandoned wine cellar under the manor, filling it with dirt, clay, boulders and rocks ("You humans have no sense of decor") filling it with gas for god's sake -- everyone thought the sewer had exploded -- and the sad, sad fate of Juliet's Persian cat ("Hey, I was peckish") -- now THAT was sick beyond all belief -- these traits were not preferable in a houseguest. Artemis shuddered; he'd promised himself he wouldn't think about the cat incident, it made his stomach turn over. He'd never liked Mr. Snuggles, but that was not a fate any animal should face...  
  
Artemis began to bang his head against the seat with a new fervor in an effort to move his thoughts into less sadistic waters. It didn't work. Poor Mr. Snuggles. Juliet had been so heartbroken. Once they'd unlocked her fingers from around Mulch's throat and forced her to hand over the ice pick, she'd retreated to her bedroom to cry for days. Butler had been absolutely furious. Artemis... well, Artemis wasn't proud of what he'd done. He'd been the one to discover the 'incident,' and had quietly thrown up in a corner and spent the rest of the day in the bathroom with the door locked, trying to regain some semblance of dignity and sanity. By mutual agreement, nobody mentioned the cat incident anymore.  
  
Artemis sighed once more. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Now that he was fourteen, it seemed even more weight had settled on his narrow shoulders. The crow's-feet around his dark blue eyes were deeper, and although he had grown a bit, he still had that almost transparent unhealthy look to him. He was so tired these days; by day the obedient son, by night the scheming criminal. At least school was out for summer vacation, so he had a little more time to himself.  
  
Leaning back on the plush leather seats, casually opening a bottle of Irish spring water, he found himself wondering (quite randomly, of course) how Holly Short was doing.  
  
As it turned out, she was not doing well at all.  
  
______________________________  
Meanwhile, in Police Plaza  
Downtown Haven  
_____________________________  
  
"Now Julius, don't be offended, but you could have made a mistake..."   
  
"D'Arvit all to hell, Scrimshaw! I don't make mistakes!" The commander's bellow could have felled a redwood at ten paces. Retired Admiral Walter Kelp Hamlet Scrimshaw, the Atlantean Ambassador and very distant relative of the young Kelps in the LEP, only swayed slightly in reaction. He was a balding, dour old crust and had never quite forgiven Root for swiping his shuttle during that insane 'Arctic Incident.' The luxury shuttle, his pride and joy, had been returned to him in awful condition - the communications array ripped off, the leather seats muddied and trampled, the fridge raided, and several nasty scratches on the wings. Besides, the Admiral was about a dozen decades older than Root, and although he was retired, he still liked to pull authority.  
  
"What you are suggesting," Scrimshaw continued, his voice drier than a week-old donut, "Could cause widespread panic, rioting, possibly even war. Now Julius, I feel that an officer of your age would have a little more ---"  
  
Root's face began to flush alarmingly, a fascinating change through several shades of red and magenta to a truly astonishing violet, like a male bogglefish during courtship. The Ambassador was prudent enough to read the warning signals. He moved with a speed unusual for one his years, ducking outside the office doorway. Just in time. An enormous, hideous, disgustingly ugly, heavy clay ashtray -- the kind little kids make for their parents in art class, even if they don't smoke -- flew through the air like an extraordinary ugly, heavy, ash-encrusted goblin shuttle. Zooming past the empty air where the Ambassador's ears had been, it thocked into the opposite wall with a sound like... well, to blatantly steal an original line, "like a dwarf's underpants hitting a wall." The ashtray was unharmed by its sudden flight. The wall now sported a large dent.  
  
The Ambassador straightened his jacket with a huff. He turned to re-enter the office, but a strangle whistling noise through the air caused him to duck back again. A Commemorative Limited Collector's Edition Cast Pewter Figurine of The Grinch, which also doubled as a cigar holder, sailed through the air, its flight patterns comparable to nothing on or under this earth, finally colliding with the floor outside the office with a terrible "KER-SQLAPT."   
  
(Old professor-looking guy wearing a suit, ripped off a Monty Python skit: "And so was born what was later known as 'The Ker-Sqlapt Heard 'Round the World.'")  
  
(Somewhere, on a frigid cold continent, in an infamous country, in a relatively small and inconspicuous state, in an even smaller town that wasn't even on the map unless you got a microscope and looked for it, in a small bedroom of a small old house, sat a teenage girl, trying to write a fanfiction. Suddenly the whole Western Hemisphere quivered slightly with the sound of an infuriated elf throwing a Commemorative Limited Collector's Edition Cast Pewter Figurine of The Grinch at another elf's ears. There was a very, very faint sound of something going "Ker-sqlapt." The teenage girl heard this, and thought about it. "Ker-sqlapt," she said, and nodded. Inspired, she began to type with a new fervor.)  
  
(Somewhere, in a high-security institution in the Lower Elements, Opal Koboi blinked. "Did something just go Ker-sqlapt?" she wondered aloud. The gremlin sitting across from her growled in frustration. "Quit trying to distract me! Do ya got any threes?" Annoyed, Opal scowled savagely at him. "Go fish." )  
  
(Speaking of fish, in Holly's apartment, not that far away from the source of the KER-SQLAPT, Bob the Bogglefish heard the awful sound. He was surprised no end, and expressed his surprise by blowing an air bubble, which floated to the surface and popped. This astonished like nothing had ever astonished him before, mind-bogglingly surprising that the bubble should, of all things, POP, and he spent the rest of the day hiding in a corner of his tank, quivering in reverent awe.)  
  
Also at that moment, Holly and Trouble arrived, breathless, in Root's office, having run all the way from the Netherworld Flamingo. As usual, the office was filled with foul smoke from those awful fungal cigars he always seemed to have on his person. Right now, Root's arm was poised for a throw, his rough fingers clenched around a pickle-shaped duct tape dispenser, his face a shade of blazing purple only seen on rare species of Amazonian tree frogs. Trouble, who was in the lead, wisely stopped short and flung himself to the floor, pulling Holly down with him. They tumbled to the ground in a completely undignified heap and thrashed around, humorously entangled in a jumble of arms and legs and ears.  
  
The pickle-shaped duct tape dispenser roared out the office door like a nuclear warhead, raring to smash into anyone that dared to come in contact with it. Two seconds later, a lowly computer technician went "Erk" and fell off her workstation, clutching her blatantly-pointed pickle-shaped-duct-tape-dispenser-smitten ear. His anger somewhat eased, Root stared outright at the flailing figures of two of his best and brightest officers on the floor. "What... the hell... do you two think you're doing?"  
  
Trouble didn't say anything for a good few seconds as he attempted to extract his legs from... Holly's legs. Mind out of the gutter. Mind out of the gutter. Mind out of the gutter. Mind out of the-- oops, ouch, too late. "Um... I followed her?" he hazarded, pointing to the furiously blushing female on the floor. Sparks flew from her eyes and her ferociously grinding teeth. She was apparently too furious and embarrassed to talk at the moment. Well, that was good. For now. Taking a deep breath, straightening his shirt -- mind out of the gutter, d'Arvit -- and assuming what he hoped was a confident, commanding pose, Captain Kelp began, "Sir, we recieved your messa-- ough--"  
  
The "ough" was not intentional. Holly, annoyed, had whumped him in the back as she stood up behind him. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"  
  
"Saving you from a pickle-shaped duct tape dispenser," Trouble shot back.  
  
"I do not need to be saved by you or anyone! Especially not from pickle-shaped--"  
  
"Excuse me, sir?" A lowly technician asked shyly, clutching one of her ears. She was holding the duct tape dispenser.  
  
"DO NOT DISTURB!" Root bellowed.   
  
"Yes, sir." The technician vanished.  
  
"Julius," Holly said sharply, assertively seating herself in the chair across from his. This left Trouble standing, awkward and vaguely annoyed, by the doorway, next to the dent and the fallen ashtray. Root scowled even harder, although it had seemed impossible; why did everyone have this need to call him by his first name in times of crisis? What a pity his parents had been so uptight - they hadn't allowed him to change it at graduation to something less... girly.   
  
"Is it true?" Holly said, leaning forward, her voice lowered. "That... someone's got their hands on..." She didn't want to finish the sentence. It was too barbaric. They were the People, advanced beyond compare. This couldn't be happening. Artemis Fowl she could handle; the greed of her own kind she could not...  
  
Not saying anything aloud, he stood up, stubbing out what was left of the cigar. "They've got the specimen down at the lab, and they're running scans on it right now. This is the last thing we need right now, a terrorism scare."  
  
"Terrorism?" she asked blankly. The thought hadn't even occured to her. Behind her, she could sense Trouble stiffen, could practically see those bright eyes of his widen in shock.  
  
Root smushed the last ashes across his desk with the pad of his thumb. "No, Captain Short," he said with unusual sarcasm. "They're collecting human ivory to feed starving children."  
  
  
______________________________  
Meanwhile, aboveground...  
_____________________________  
Sunways International Airport Terminal  
Dublin, Ireland  
_____________________________  
  
The lone figure of a teenage-looking young man slipped in between the throngs of exhausted travelers, scrubbing at his strange, narrow yellow eyes with the back of one hand. A beat-up leather bomber jacket hung on one shoulder, an equally battered Army pack on the other. Jagged strands of blood-crimson hair hung carelessly to his jaw and covered his forehead, one particularly long piece falling across his pointed nose.   
  
Note to self, he thought. Never ever ever take another red-eye from Nippon to Eire again. Not even for a good cause. Never ever ever ---  
  
"HellosirrmayIseey'rrpassporrtplease?"  
  
"... Eh?"  
  
Blinking tiredly, he forced his eyes to focus on the waaaaay-too-cheery... woman... who had accosted him. She had a cloud of orange hair, sparkly green eyes, freckles, and a thick Irish brogue. Entirely too cheerful, she beamed and repeated, more slowly, "Hello, sirr, may I see y're passport please?"  
  
English had never been one of his favorite languages. It was too.... too... ermh... there was a word for what he was thinking, he knew there was a word for it, but he was just too damn tired to think of it. His eyes slammed shut of their own accord and he stumbled backwards a step, catching himself just in time before falling asleep on the terminal floor. English. Let's see, what did he know...  
  
"Fire!" he yelled suddenly, pointing to a nearby sign that said "Baggage Check." The burst of concentration needed to actually provide the fire almost knocked him out, but he managed it -- the plastic sign improbably burst into flame, dripping and melting to the tiled floor, and as the Irish woman turned in shock, green eyes wide as a bogglefish's, he slipped away into the surprised crowd. Okay... no more stunts like that today... what he needed now was a bed... how do you say that in English...?  
  
Thankfully, he could mimic a decent Irish accent, which was surprisingly close to his native one. The rhythm of Ireland's speech -- heavily burred "R's" and a certain lilt -- was somehow similar enough to Japanese that he could manage it. Welsh, now, that was impossible. Too many "L's" -- a Japanese speaker couldn't pronounce "L's," instead turning them into firmly burred "R's," who even needed the letter "L" anyway? Ignorant Westerners and their stupid languages. Stupid airports too, with stupid personnel. Stupid... stupid... what was that word? Ow. His random thoughts buzzed in his head like vengeful bees; he was starting to get a nasty headache.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, after dodging security, vendors and religious fanatics, he was out on the streets of Dublin, lost, foreign, out of his element, and unspeakably tired. It was dark out. He didn't know what time it was exactly, all this screwing around with time zones had left him clueless. There were stars in the slightly clouded sky, but they looked a little different. Maybe it was because he was on the other side of the planet. Maybe it was because his blurred, sleepy mind seemed to be a-frolicking randomly about like an adventurous but sadly drunken squirrel.   
  
He swept his bloodred hair out of his face with a quick and well-placed breath that ended in a loud yawn. Feline eyes narrowed, he stared intensely at a road sign, willing the English scribbles to turn into Japanese kanji, but they didn't. Lost, completely lost.  
  
He wasn't in any condition right now to go up against the LEP, especially since they had such an amusing wariness of his kind. He didn't have any money, or any belongings except for what was in his Army satchel. Even that wasn't much.  
  
Settling down on a convenient park bench, the traveler tilted back his head, letting a faint stir of warm, summer-night breeze wash over his tired eyelids. He couldn't fall asleep here; too dangerous. He needed shelter, and a long nap to recover from all this jet lag. Then he could face up to Root-san and the LEP, and tell them about the shielded yosei he had seen that night in Tokyo. He got up, forcing aside his overwhelming tiredness, and began to walk. As he walked, eyes constantly scanning the environment for possible refuges, he thought about what he was doing.  
  
He knew that it was a matter of great importance, that the folk of Haven certainly deserved to know -- but he still felt an odd resentment. What had the People of Eire ever done for our kind? he thought. For all they know, we're extinct, and they could care less. Still, he argued with himself, we are all in this together... we are all pushed aside as the human cities grow larger and more intrusive. Perhaps one day we will all be pushed together into one last Haven; besides, it is honorable to tell them. I could never live with myself if I had commited dishonor. And haven't I always wanted to travel, beyond the little islands of Japan?  
  
His natural stamina was already giving him something of a second wind, and if he tried hard he could work up enough English to get by. After all, all languages are supposedly derived from an ancient master language, known by all People worldwide.   
  
"Ah, Ireland," he said aloud in English, Japanese accent seriously messing up the "L," but no matter. "Here I am."  
  
  
  
___________________________  
Soapbox -- Sorry this last section wasn't as funny. I guess it's the Action/ Adventure part. Well, is anyone dying of suspense yet? Anyway, here's a list of foreign words I sprung at you, and a special thanks to everyone. Just so you know you're appreciated. ^_^  
___________________________  
Foreign Words I used. Sorry to confuse.... -.-;;  
  
{Gaelic}  
Eire -- ancient (poetic) name for Ireland  
  
{Japanese}  
Nippon -- ancient (poetic) name for Japan  
Kanji -- one of Japan's more commonly used writing systems (they have 4 systems to memorize, that's like learning about 6 alphabets!)  
Yosei -- Japanese for sprite, fairy, pixie, spirit, that sort of thing  
-san -- Japanese suffix after a name indicating respect. Root-san = roughly 'Mr. Root' but more respectful  
_________________________  
Special Thanks to:  
  
Artemis Fowl the Second -- Thanks for being a good sport, a good writer and a very funny person. ;)  
CrazyGirly007 -- Thanks for everything! I wish you the best of luck with your enigmatic fic!  
queenstheif -- whoa.... don't poision yourself my friend... O.O  
VenusDeOmnipotent -- Oh wow, Bob, you're a celebrity! Sure, anyone who wants Bob can borrow him... ^_^  
becca -- Just wait. Mwah hah hah.  
Eleida -- Why thank you! I finally figured out formatting. Now we can all be happy.  
Kelti -- Don't hurt yourself. Breathe! Breathe! Yeah, fish are great. Not outstandingly smart, but great.  
spider-elf -- Thanks so much. I feel appreciated. *randomly* Sydney has bogglefish lips!  
slime frog -- See you in Laa Laa Land.  
Ivycreeper -- Thank you very much! I appreciate it. Keep up your good work too. **bows**   
Mage Kitty -- I know the feeling... @_@  
Lli -- Yay! Flamingo-pink!  
Sashka -- Once again, thanks for helping me out.  
Tie Kerl -- Swamp water? Sounds good! Whipped cream is good for everything, especially the new chocolate kind.   
  
Bob: O_O (boggles cluelessly at his fans)  
Caspian Nyghtvision: (pokes him)  
Bob: o_O!  
Caspian: (sighs and hangs a sign around his neck... wait, fishes don't have necks...)  
The Sign: Anyone who wants to put Bob the Bogglefish in their fic, or anything else of mine, is welcome provided they ask first.  
  
Cheers! 


	3. Into the Fire

Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files  
By Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
Chapter Three: Into the Fire  
  
Disclaimer: Bob owns the world. I own Bob. Work out the conclusions at your leisure. ^_^   
  
Author's Note: Excitement! Danger! Suspense! Plot! Humor!  
  
The ways of my mind are many and meandering. Plot begins to pull together. Long chapter this time! Includes Bob and Netherworld Flamingo, but they're at the end, after the Excitement, Danger, Suspense and Plot. Rating hovers around PG for Commander Root, a few d'Arvits, dangerous randomness, and a battle/tension scene involving... BLOOD! And some dead moles. And a lot of very nice fire. And Chix. Mwah. Nothing that you can't stomach though, since if you've gotten this far you've read the books, and if you can handle Mulch, you can handle me. *Half-mad chuckle. Sprints off and falls over something unimportant, breaking, spraining and burning several things on the way to the floor. Graceful blonde Mary Sues have no competition from me.*   
  
Into the fire  
I'm reunited  
Into the fire  
I am the spark  
Into the fire  
I yearn for comfort  
--- Sarah McLachlan, "Into the Fire"  
  
They say goldfish have no memory  
I guess their lives are much like mine  
And the little plastic castle is a surprise every time  
And it's hard to say if they're happy,  
But they don't seem much to mind...  
--- Ani diFranco, "Little Plastic Castle"  
  
______________________________________  
A Few Minutes After We Last Left Off  
Root's Office  
______________________________________  
  
"Damn the torpedoes, sir!" Trouble snarled, brandishing the pickle-shaped duct-tape dispenser like it was a dangerous weapon. Which it was, but not intentionally. "We'll blast those albatrosses out of the water!"  
  
Holly and Root, as one, turned and stared at him. "Albatrosses...?"  
  
"That was random." Trouble sat down heavily, and began toying savagely with the duct tape. Holly considered removing it from him before he hurt himself. Then she decided that she rather liked her trigger finger, and having almost lost it once, didn't want to again; she didn't want to get in the way of a fidgety elf and his duct tape.  
  
Before anyone could say anything else, a janitor crept in, holding a Cast-Pewter Limited Edition Figurine of The Grinch (which also doubled as a cigar holder,) dropped it on Root's desk, muttered apologetically, and dashed off.  
  
Root took his cigar out of his mouth and balanced it on the Grinch's hand. "All right." He suddenly put his hand over his mouth and coughed, hoarse and racking, a real lungs-gone-to-hell smoker's cough. The two officers sat and watched him worriedly, knowing that if they asked if he was all right, he'd wave them off manfully, using words that would make your average bull troll faint.   
  
"All right." He put in one last cough for good measure and crushed the glowing ember of the cigar between his fingertips. Trouble and Holly immediately relaxed and began to breathe normally again, instead of the tight, tiny, only-enough-air-needed-for-immediate-survival breaths people always took in that office. Hyperventilating was not very good for stress; there was a rumor that young Vice Corporal Fallacy of the Traffic Control Squad wore a World War Two gas mask whenever he went to see the commander. Of course, he had never been quite right in the head, as the incident with the blowtorch, shuttle and whingleberry jam had proven.   
  
Root quietly began fidgeting with some random object that was left on his desk -- a stapler, it looked like -- and Holly's ears winced of their own accord. Sighing, he set it down again. Where the hell was he supposed to start?  
  
"About twenty minutes ago..."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
(It would help if you imagined the 'screen' getting all wavy here, 'cause this is one of those flashback moments...)  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
It would also help if you imagined a sort of "woobly-woobly" sound to go along with it... I'd put in the special effects myself, but find myself sadly lacking the money. Eh... you'll live. Now hum along with me. Woobly woobly.)   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
_______________________________________  
Twenty Minutes Before  
Aboveground  
Tara, near entrance L37 to Haven  
_______________________________________   
  
The traveler was lucky. He could see in the dark.  
  
He was searching for the entrance into Haven. The little myth about "the leprechaun's pot of gold at the end of the rainbow" had its roots in truth. It was an ancient coded message to the entrance, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what he was supposed to do with it, or if it was obsolete by now. He'd only been to Haven once -- and it had been a very long time ago. A light night breeze lifted his spiky blood red hair off his forehead, revealing a Hindu-like marking between his eyes ---  
  
--- just as the sixth sense it represented kicked in, and he leaped several feet into the air and to the side like a mongoose avoiding a cobra's strike. "Shimmata!" he yelped in Japanese as what looked like a laser beam scorched the air right where he had been. The deadly blast roared past him and struck the side of a hill, accidentally killing a young mole as he tunneled quite innocently through the loam. (The various insects and worms that the mole would have eaten -- had he lived -- multiplied instead until they numbered in trillions, developed savage parasites, were eventually ingested by a careless sheep, and bred inside its gut, mutating into a new kind of virus that gave half the teenagers in Ireland a mild cold and a few days of school off. The moral of the story is that if you want to avoid an Advanced Algebra test for a few days, kill a mole; but things don't always work that way and the SPCA'd probably shoot you instead. Besides, you should never take anything I write entirely for granted as occasionally I am channeling the spirit of an Atlantean bogglefish and thus might be unreliable.)  
  
Oblivious to all that, the traveler was knee-deep in untranslatable Japanese words that all meant, roughly, "D'Arvit." Fight or flight? Run like hell or fire back, probably scorching a lot of the local landscape in the process? (And inadvertently killing more moles, and the cosmic consequences of that.) Who was shooting at him anyway?  
  
Nightvision eyes picked out the form of a small, childlike figure just visible behind a tree. No shielding tonight; apparently it trusted the cover darkness would bring it. Possibly an elf, judging by the build; wingless, relatively tall compared to some other species, unique way of holding its body. It wore a helmet and an unidentifiable uniform that didn't look LEP. But what did he know? The possible-elf was carrying what looked like a sawed-off laser gun and something in a package held close to its heart. A pair of glittering eyes twinkled behind the helmet's visor. It looked around carefully, with the measured casualness of a predator. The traveler readied himself to spring out of the way again as he saw the helmet swing in his direction; he'd been spotted again. He could destroy this frail little creature, small light bones snapping as easily as a chicken's inside that paper-thin jumpsuit. But it just didn't feel right or honorable, killing a little fairy. Even if it had started it. They were just so tiny... and... child-looking...  
  
SHRAAAAAAWH  
  
That was the noise of air molecules turning into fire molecules. It was the noise a grenade makes just before impact when it shatters into a thousand deadly shards of metal and explosive flame. The grenade slammed into the side of the hill, transforming the innocent mound of earth and grass into a ball of boiling, roaring flame. Killing countless moles.  
  
The elf behind the tree ducked into standard safety position, curling into a small ball as the ground quivered with the explosion. A few seconds later the hell's furnace of the hill had turned into a spreading fire. Behind her helmet, the elf scowled. Her orders were to obliterate anyone who saw her, but hadn't included the local landscape, or any wildlife that might be living in it. Well, hopefully that odd-looking human had burned to a grease spot in that mess. She unclipped a few fizzers from her belt, loaded them into her second gun, and shot them into the heart of the flames. There was a second roar of water, then one of steam as the supercompressed capsules extinguished the blaze. A faint mist covered the stand of trees, which a few seconds ago had been scorching in the heat. Her duty done, the elf stood up, brushed her jumpsuit off, and began to move away, silent as a shadow and hidden in the night.   
  
The sixth sense had saved him again, but he'd left his pack behind; all his things had been in there. One side of his face felt strangely hot, and when he touched it, there was a terrible burnt feeling behind the pain. How ironic; one of the planet's most fire-smart inhabitants getting burned by a nancy little elf. He decided to let the matter rest, until he was reasonably sure of what the hell was going on. Last he checked, the LEP hadn't been a lot of homicidal pyros willing to blow up a person for no reason whatsoever, but as the nagging little voice in his head kept reminding him, it had been a while.  
  
He pulled himself to his feet, checked himself for injuries, and was relieved to see that apart from feeling sore and rather burnt in every single part of his body, he wasn't quite dead yet. Yet. A noise from the woods behind him made him turn around, resignedly.  
  
A second fairy emerged from the woods, wearing the same uniform as the first, but with a shorter and squatter build. A dwarf? Not bad. As it saw him, raising its own weapon for a blow, he clenched his jaw, eyes gleaming, and growled in Japanese, "No, you go to hell." He let loose his own blaze of fire straight at its head.  
  
The first elf turned around as a scream ripped through her headset, and saw the tall shape of the human she was sure she had killed. Her partner was writhing madly, trying to stop, drop and roll all at once while pulling his burning helmet off his head. Thinking clearly, she checked that her second gun still had fizzers in it, and fired one straight at her comrade. In an instant, dwarf and human were enveloped in a cloud of steam. As she ran towards them, she loaded her last fizzers into the gun, her mind remarking to itself that at this rate, the fire department should be paying her for all this.   
  
This was definitely not the way this mission was supposed to turn out. Dangerous, yes, but she shouldn't have been the one in danger. He'd survived the laser and the grenade; she was going to use her weapon of last resort. It wasn't like it was her first choice. She pulled out her handgun -- the one that carried bullets.  
  
Somehow the human saw her coming. His eyes widened, strangely catlike and electric, as he put up his hands defensively. The elf didn't even hesitate as she poured an entire clip of bullets into his body. Not even pausing to watch him fall, she turned to her partner. He was still rolling on the ground, screaming loud enough to wake the dead. Dwarves were such useless pyrophobes, the lot of them. She poked him with her toe.  
  
"Get up. The fire's gone."  
  
He only groaned incoherently.  
  
"You didn't drop the ivory, did you?"  
  
He groaned something that sounded like "No" and held up a small package, like the one she had. The blue plastic wrapping was charred and melted, but the hard white objects inside were completely intact.  
  
"Good. It saved your life, even though it was raw. I wonder how he did that?" She looked over her shoulder at the human, who was on his knees, head bent and his hair falling over his face, hands clapped to his chest, blood flowing from his mouth and nose. "D'Arvit, he's taking a while to die." The elf crossed over to the kneeling figure and leveled her laser at him point-blank. She jacked the lever from "Kill" all the way up to the illegal setting, "Well-Done Char-Grilled." This would definitely finish him off.  
  
The human somehow raised his head and she was surprised by the oddness of his looks. Even with the night-vision filter, which overrode color, she could tell that the blood streaking his face and neck was the same hot scarlet as his hair. "Don' really intend to die," he replied slowly and thickly in a strange accent. Holding her gaze, pulling one blood-soaked hand from his chest, he dropped a handful of dark objects on the ground.   
  
Bullets. He'd caught bullets. Not all of them, she'd shot at least six. Still, surviving a laser blast, a grenade and then catching back two bullets out of six is not a usual habit for humans. (Except in horribly inaccurate human action movies starring Pierce Brosnan and scantily clad spy women. And they don't count.) A fellow fairy could have done it. She had definitely not expected this person to.  
  
The elf took a few steps back, almost tripping over the still-prone body of her partner. "What the hell---?"  
  
A steady, insistent beeping noise sounded within her headset. It was picking up radar from an incoming LEP patrol. "D'Arvit!" she cursed frantically. Forgetting about the human, she struggled to rouse her dwarven comrade. He clung to her heels and muttered something about a fiery death that she paid no attention to. Useless, useless pyrophobes, and he was the worst of the lot. Somehow draping his arms around her neck and dragging him along, the elf vanished into the woods with her partner.   
  
~~~~~~~~~ A few minutes later ~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The faintest hum from a set of remodeled Koboi Double-Dex (tm) whispered vaguely in the summer night air. The shielded sprite they were strapped to was a green-skinned male, humming cheerfully to himself. He had a big scar punched into one wing, so he had to use mechanical wings like any groundcrawling fairy. He didn't mind it, though, and he didn't mind working late; tonight, he was paired off with a nice-looking young pixie, Private Lucretia Mercredi, and his chances with her were looking extremely hopeful. He just had to finish this routine flyby over Tara, then swing back to her and start working the old Verbil charm.  
  
His headset crackled. "Chix? Do you copy?"  
  
"Loud and clear, Lucretia my dear."  
  
There was a pause. Apparently she decided to ignore this last comment. "I'm picking up heatspill north-north-east of you. Do you read it?"  
  
"Heatspill" was just another one of the vast library of LEP technical terms, like "science" and "fizzer," and it meant just what it sounded like; lingering vestiges of heat. Somewhat similar to standing in an area where a shuttle has just taken off and feeling the leftover heat of its passage -- though why anybody would want to stand in heatspill from a shuttle is unclear.  
  
"I thought I noticed things getting hot around here," Chix shot back smoothly. Or so he thought. Safely shielded near the chute entrance, Private Mercredi raised an eyebrow. She was going to let that one slide, too. "Just go check it out, will you?"  
  
"Sure will." Chix pulled a barrel roll in midair, even though she couldn't see him, and switched on the heat-sensor eyepiece in his helmet. After his crippling experience that time with Holly, he was a bit wary of the whole heat-sensing thing and its faults. Still, Lucretia was watching.   
  
Cold things show up gray. Hot things, like People and fire, show up orange. Heatspill shows up a watery shade of orange, its strength depending on how warm the leftover heat is. There was a lot of it this time, a huge patch of dying orange overlaid on cold gray ground. There was another patch of dying orange in the area as well, but it was a bit stronger than the rest. Probably a fire going out; he'd chuck some fizzers at it so they wouldn't have the fire department tramping around Tara. Chix gunned towards it.   
  
What he saw surprised him so much that he almost dropped his shield. It looked like a nuclear war had been fought there. A whole hillside had been blasted to cinders, nearby trees were blackened, the grass turned to brittle charcoal. Laser markings scored and burned the ground. A light breeze picked up clots and swirls of ash and swirled them heavily over the area. Chix slowed down his wings and set them to idle, coming to a landing just at the edge of the scorched area. Reattaching his gaping lower jaw to the rest of his face, he tapped his helmet cam. "You picking this up, Lucretia?"  
  
"Yes. I'm sending it to Commander Root. He should receive the footage in a few minutes." Her small voice was tight over the intercom. "Looks like a disaster zone."  
  
"Heatspill's already fading," Chix said professionally. "Must have been pretty recent."  
  
"What's that brighter bit in the middle there?" Mercredi asked.  
  
"Probably the core of the fire. Looks like it's dying out, but I'll take a look."  
  
"Be careful, Verbil."  
  
"Oh, don't worry," Chix replied, rolling his eyes. Females, always worrying. Of course, Holly had been right to worry last time... He strolled over to the spot indicated on his visor-map and stopped short. Again.  
  
"How the hell did a Mud Boy get here?" Warily, the sprite circled the crumpled figure on the ground. "Odd-looking fellow too. Probably setting off fireworks or something."  
  
"Verbil, look at the sensors, he's dying---!" Private Mercredi's voice was cut off by a much louder one.   
  
"VERBIL, WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!"  
  
Chix winced, looking around at the charred area. "Commander Root, all I can say is, I didn't do it."  
  
"Don't move. We're sending Recon in. I repeat, don't move. I'll know if you do, I'm monitoring you with the helmet cam."  
  
"Yes, sir," Chix replied, then added under his breath, "Permission to breathe?"  
  
"Granted," Root said swiftly. "Recon will arrive in about five minutes. Until then, stay put, Private."  
  
For an uncomfortable 4.57 minutes, Chix stood balanced on one foot and the ball of the other foot, in the exact pose he had been in when Root told him not to move. It was harder than he would have liked to admit, and not just because of the balancing. The figure on the ground seemed to be losing life by the minute, and it stressed the sprite out to be unable to help. Not that he had any love for humans. But the way the blood lurched slower and slower out of the young man's nose and mouth with every dying heartbeat made him sick to his stomach.   
  
A special LEPRecon squad arrived within the timeframe Root had given, along with a warlock medic. Chix eyed the medic approvingly -- a female about seventy-five years old, rather young for the job, with clear blue-gray skin and deep purple hair in a low ponytail. As the Recon squad fanned out to secure the area, the sprite balanced in position, and the medic set up a makeshift clinic and expertly began to examine the young man on the ground. Since Chix was just standing there, still as a coat hanger, she put her flashlight into his hand, closed his stiff fingers around it, and aimed the light at her patient. He took this as a sign of interest.   
  
"So, honey, what's your sign?"  
  
The medic didn't even look up as she took off the human's leather jacket; he was wearing a black turtleneck underneath. Pulling scissors from her bag, she cut the shirt off, tightening her mouth at the blackened bullet holes and trails of blood. "If I told you I was a lesbian, would you let me do my work?" Her long, slender, skilled hands flew over her patient's body, but no blue sparks yet. She didn't want to accidentally heal his body over the bullets.  
  
"What work, babe? Just patch him up so he doesn't die, give him a mind-wipe and dump him on a hospital step. What's your name?"  
  
The young warlock growled, slim dolphin-gray fingers clearing the clotting blood from her patient's airways. "Silver. Junior Medic Janisha Silver. Now shut up."  
  
Surprisingly, he did.  
  
Commotion from the makeshift clinic brought a Recon officer running. The patient's catlike eyes had opened, and he looked around dizzily. "LEP?" he asked thickly.  
  
"Y-yes..." Junior Medic Silver replied, astonished.  
  
He focused on the medic's wavering figure -- all three of her. "Ningenno zoge..." he spat, and lay back again.  
  
The warlock, Chix, the Recon officer, and Mercredi and Root -- still watching from Chix's helmet cam -- stood staring at him for a good four seconds.   
  
Then Silver, on a spontaneous hunch, leaned forward and began brushing his long, jagged crimson hair away from his face. It had apparently been styled to hide his face; this became obvious as she flicked away the last oddly colored strands to reveal a definitely pointed ear.  
  
There was another strange silence. "Well," the medic said, rocking back on her heels, "We're not using the mesmer on this one."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ End of convenient flashback. Back to Root's office. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Ningenno zoge." Holly said. Root had just filled them in on what he knew. She knew the words were Japanese but couldn't recall them immediately. "What does that mean?"  
  
"Human ivory," Trouble told her instantly.  
  
"Ah."  
  
"I know a little Japanese from anime," he said proudly. "I really like anime."  
  
"Ah." Holly said again.  
  
"These were found at the site," the commander said, tossing a plastic bag across the desk. Holly picked it up and looked at the items inside. "Bloody bullets and fizzer caps? Oh." She winced. "These are our bullets, aren't they?"  
  
"From when we used them, about a century ago. Fizzer caps among evidence in the fire point to one of the People. Stupid of them to leave evidence, but I guess they were in a hurry."   
  
"What happened to the hu- whatever he is?" Holly asked, tossing the bag to Trouble.   
  
"Emergency medic ward. Might not make it through the night." Root relit his cigar and the two captains winced. Again. "You two get home, get some rest. Come in early tomorrow morning."  
  
"Yes sir." They stood as one, Trouble dropping the plastic bag on the desk with a disgusted look.  
  
"Goodnight, Commander," Holly said shakily.  
  
"Good night, captains."  
  
_______________________________________  
Still the same Friday Night  
The Netherworld Flamingo  
Downtown Haven, Lower Elements  
(Happy Hour: 8 pm to midnight. All drinks half-off, free refills for reviewers, original characters and repeat customers. Shameless spamming? Yes indeed. ^_^)  
________________________________________  
Oblivious of the suspense looming tighter with every chapter around the Lower Elements, the seemingly eternal party at the Netherworld Flamingo was continuing with the usual abandon. People were hanging out, cutting loose, getting gloriously, hyperly hyper on sugar and caffeine, and generally having fun. Caspian, the proprietor, paused to rest for an instant, perched on a bar stool, her fingerless-gloved-hands and hiking boots akimbo in what was for her a graceful pose, content to just watch the People.   
The place was full of noise and music and the odd darkness of most clubs, lit by black lights and the strangely glowing furniture -- deep blue and purple and dark crimson providing a cool atmosphere. Over at the end of the bar, nursing root beers, were a group of middle-aged male sprites that came in every night at eight o'clock sharp, drank six root beers apiece, and had to be escorted to their homes a few hours later.   
  
Sprites are kind of like hummingbirds. They get very wound up and excitable when they get their hands on caffeine. Dwarves can down ten cups of coffee straight without getting the least bit waffley, and one centaur was known to eat an entire crate of sugar cubes without even starting to get incoherent, but sprites just can't hold their caffeine. Their sugar tolerance level is almost as low as that of your average human teenage girl -- even one cup of soda can tip them far, far over the line drawn in the sand to separate the sane from the People who Hear Rice Krispies. Right now the middle-aged regulars were arguing vehemently over an article they'd seen in the "Gnommish Gazette."   
  
"He shaid," the first regular slurred, tapping his greenish fingernail on the deeply glowing dark purple bartop, "That the mosht vaaaal--- vaall- vaal-you-a-bull thing we can do for our shlumpin' hec-hic- h'economy... is... to go on more vacations. But theresh only sooo many times ya can go to Disneyworld afore it shtratsh... sthartsh..." Nearing the end of his argument, he made a supreme effort -- "STARTS ta get old." He then vanished behind his root beer, and was not heard from again.  
  
"Disneyworld," announced another, more lucid regular, "Is not what it used to be. Ya got your Mickey Mouse impersonators, ya got your roller coasters, ya got your kidsh shkipping aroun' in packsh being dangeroush, ya got ALL these crazy teenage humansh runnin around like they own the place, it jest ain't a good family place ta take the kidsh anymore." Okay... maybe he wasn't any more lucid than the first one. Still... five points for determination, Sprite #2.  
  
"Mickey Mouse," a third regular spat venomously. He looked as if he wanted to add something to that, but slid off his stool with a faint giggle instead, wings fluttering helplessly. The others didn't seem to notice. They continued to argue among themselves in between swigsh -- er, swigs -- of root beer.   
  
A pair of new customers entered, a pair of dwarves with their arms linked lovingly. They looked up in trepidation at the enormous glow-in-the-dark squirrel statues proudly guarding the front entrance, the spectra-flamingos lurking warily in the eaves, the glass squid hung from the high black ceiling that was dotted randomly with phosphorescent stars, the steel rafters a comfortable place for young lunatics to watch the action. Huge aquariums lined the walls, the exotic Atlantean fish flashing bright as neon within their deep purple depths or boggling cluelessly at the customers. Music throbbed from all directions. The dwarves looked completely overwhelmed and a little nervous; they must not have ever been here before. Caspian herself got up to greet them -- miraculously not tripping over, breaking, killing or spontaneously combusting anything on her way. Her ungracefullness was an adolescence thing, she stubbornly told herself, something she would grow out of --- whoops, avoid the waitress with flaming Cokes, don't want to explain THAT to the insurance company (again.)   
  
The brightly colored little Random Parrots shot back and forth, scrawking current menu prices and one-liner quotes from movies, as well as incoherent phrases that were quite amusing if you could concentrate on them long enough to listen. "Root beer, Sprite, Dr. Pepper, ginger ale!" one parrot screamed thrillingly, shooting past the bar in an explosion of orange and neon blue feathers. "NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition!"  
  
Meanwhile, the best and brightest of the LEP Academy were cheerfully singing a drinking song straight from the pits of madness. Caspian knew; she'd taught them, setting the words to the tune of "Auld Lang Syne."   
  
"Oh for the days of lollipops and alcohol free champagne,   
Lest new flamingos be begot, like lemurs in the rain!   
Like lemurs in the rain, my friends, like lemurs in the raaaaaiiin,   
Lest new flamingos be begot like lemurs in the rain!"  
  
Caspian blinked. Was it just her, or was Vice Corporal Fallacy wearing a pink plastic toilet seat on his--? No, she decided reluctantly, she probably didn't want to know.  
  
Strolling across the blue-black stage, Grub Kelp was adding to the general noise by soulfully singing karaoke. What a pity that the music playing was "Action Fairy" by Fairypop and the Heat Sensors ("Action yeah it's what I crave, cutting loose as the crowds rave and I'm sayin, gonna take off this shirt this shirt cause I'm an ac-tion fai-ry...") while Grub was singing "Spam Song" by that oracle of human genius, Monty Python. Another pity was that he was trying to get the wonderful well-rounded chorus effect with just his own slightly wobbly, noticeably hyper voice. "Wonderful Spam lovely Spam Spam SPAM wonderful lovely Spam Spam Spam SPAM..."  
  
Perched on the octopus-bedecked rafters were a group of cheerfully insane teenagers, mostly elves, who were happily throwing completely random objects at him. A cast-iron bathtub with clawed feet thudded onto the hard, clear dark blue surface of the stage, miraculously not even scratching it, and lolled there helplessly, pathetically, improbably, like a whale that has found itself beached on the moon. It was joined by a 7,563-page hardbound edition of "Sociology: A Modern Introduction" and, due to an inexplicable twist of fate, a pickle-shaped duct tape dispenser. A particularly creative pixie threw a can of Spam at the singer. Oblivious, Grub strolled and sang, as mournful and poetic as if he was singing an angsty Irish love ballad. "Spam Spam Spam Spam SPAM..."  
  
A Random Parrot shot wobbling past his face, scattering hot pink and black feathers in its disheveled, drunken wake. "Join the Dark Side and I will spare your life!" it barked convincingly, before hitting the velvet curtain and falling to the stage floor with an odd-sounding giggle, beating its wings against the floor and squawking incoherently "There they go! I must hurry after them, for I am their leader!" Caspian really had to train them better, or at least encourage the customers not to give them sugar...  
  
Somewhere, the proprietor could hear the all-too-familiar sound of a certain egotistic technician getting a resounding SLAP across the face. Probably trying to put the moves on some girl again... and failing, again. Poor Foaly. Annoying as hell, sure, but still. His natural genetics, taking an evil turn like genetics are prone to do, had rendered him with the sad inability to get hyper on sugar, so while everyone else was cheerfully going mad, Foaly and his superior attitude were attempting to describe to the blonde female (the glossy black one had slapped him, then clopped off in disgust) exactly how to hack into a laptop computer with only a bar of soap and a socket wrench. The soap, he was telling her smugly, wasn't really necessary. In fact, if you were pressed for time, you could use any standard-sized jar of peanut butter. The blonde female was slowly backing away, holding her ginger ale protectively, as Foaly began to demonstrate on a placemat.   
  
A Random Parrot dove by, squalling philosophically ("My karma ran over your dogma!") and the female centaur seized that moment to gallop off in another direction. Oblivious, Foaly turned to the group of washed-out sprites and began to patronizingly explain to them the mechanics of a DNA stun cannon. Pie-eyed, clutching their root beers, their wings and jaws drooping slightly, they nodded vaguely and attempted to look intelligent and reasonably sober.  
  
Seated at a table, drunk on Gatorade, was renowned psychologist Dr. J. Argon, loudly proclaiming to anyone who would listen that the Universe was just a figment of its own imagination, and if everyone were to fall into a coma at once, thus not thinking about it, existence would cease. He kept this up for about five minutes, until the Netherworld Flamingo Resident Bouncer, a large and muscly creature of uncertain species with the ominous name of Joe, quietly escorted the psychologist to the back room and phoned his wife. Dr. J. Argon's wife, not Joe's wife. Caspian was reasonably sure that Joe was male, but still had room left for doubt.   
  
Elsewhere, the group of insane teenagers had parachuted down from the rafters, stormed the stage, usurped Grub, and were now singing very good karaoke. They'd selected "Dare," the song that had made turned the Flare Riders from Gnommish nobodies to stars overnight, and were doing all the correct dancing moves, miraculously not destroying anything in the process. The People sitting near the stage actually looked up from their Diet Cokes and Mountain Dews to watch and listen.  
  
"Being with you is living a little. It's like being set out on a dare, it's like taking my life in my hands to ride a magma flare. It's when you feel the heat that you know you're alive and I can take on the underworld with you at my side..."  
  
There was a loud crash as Vice Corporal Fallacy fell out of his seat with a loud crash, the pink plastic toilet seat coming loose from his head and rolling off into a dark corner to hide its shame. The half-breed (Pixie/sprite; never a healthy combination, especially with the low sugar tolerance and silly wings) lay there giggling madly and screaming for someone to shoot the damn colored lemurs that were floating around his head, they were scaring him. Helpfully, the other junior officers of the LEP clustered around him, and one had the uncommon good sense to douse him with a glass of ginger ale.  
  
Caspian vaulted herself up on the bar top and swung her boots casually, letting it all wash over her. Yeah... she loved this place.  
  
__________________________  
Friday Night/ Saturday Morning -- at any rate, 1:00 AM  
Root's Office  
Downtown Haven.... you get the idea.  
____________________________  
  
Alone now in his office, alone in the building in fact - everyone else had the common sense to go home - Root quietly chain-smoked several cigars, got bored and paced around the room a few times, threw the ashtray around some more just for the hell of it, got bored, and chain-smoked a few more cigars. He thought. He knocked the ashtray off his desk, hoping it would break, or destroy something, so that he could be annoyed at it. He desperately wanted to be annoyed at anything, anything at all, to have a decent temper fit at someone or something to relieve this odd empty silence and calm. Everyone had gone home; the few who knew about the... crisis were under strict orders not to talk until they knew it was for real; there was nobody to rant and rave at. How could everything be so well-ordered and silent, when something sinister seemed to be quietly building itself up until he was ready to explode with impatience?   
  
__________________________  
Holly's Apartment  
___________________________  
  
Holly got back into her apartment by taking a hand drill and boring several holes into the doorframe, then knocking it over with her boot. Duct tape, pulled out of some tiny secret spy-fairy pocket sewn into her pants, provided the perfect cover-up. (After about a year of all this, her door was made almost completely out of duct tape, held together by a few remnants of the original frame. Give in and ask Foaly to make her a new key? No, never! Captain Short does not give up so easily!) She strode purposefully into her apartment, threw her boots around, and collapsed onto the floor.  
  
"I just don't know what to do, Bob."  
  
Sympathetically, Bob stared widely in a completely different direction, apparently trying to come to grips with an oddly shaped spot on the far wall.  
  
Annoyed, Holly reached up and slapped her slim hand against the wall of his tank. The water sloshed violently, and the bogglefish's ungainly round, fat purplish body tumbled about in the sudden tsunami. Rigid with surprise, he completely forgot to move his ridiculously small fins to turn himself upright, so he floated upside down, staring hugely with his cartoonish wide eyes and flopping his lips a few times in complete astonishment. He looked oddly like Grub Kelp.  
  
"Some therapist you are," Holly groaned, slumping back to the floor and staring at the ceiling. "And they say people with pets have calmer, happier lives. Ever since I got you, I've had nothing but chaos. First, Artemis Fowl. Then, goblins. And Artemis Fowl. Now, human ivory...."  
  
Bob wobbled upright, blew a random bubble, boggled at it in astonishment, accidentally popped it, went into brief spasms of surprise, and began to stare raptly at a small piece of seaweed that Holly had put in his tank three months ago, to keep him company. What was this?! Where did it come from?! Why was it there?! How long had it been there before he noticed it?! Should he eat it? Ignore it? Worship it? Forget about it and --- WAIT! WHAT'S THAT THING? MY GOD! WHAT DOES IT MEAN? SHOULD I WORSHIP IT? WHY --   
  
Holly pushed herself back up, grabbing the can of dried stink worms from its place under the heater and nearly giving the fish a heart attack as she randomly sprinkled the brittle food into his tank. There are only so many synonyms you can use for the word 'surprise,' but Bob's reaction encompassed all of them. He was, according to "Roget's Desk Thesaurus," astonished, astounded, startled, amazed, flabbergasted, taken aback, struck with wonder, left open-mouthed; his mind was boggled at the sudden appearance of food in his tank. Bob attempted to worship the food, but his stomach grew so annoyed at the fact that his brain was so useless that it valiantly seized control of his body and all major motion control centers, and he gulped down a piece.   
  
Oblivious to the daytime drama going on in her fish tank, Holly dragged herself to her feet, only to collapse heavily on the thin lumpy mattress of her futon-like piece of furniture. She her head fall into her hands. She was so tired, but she couldn't possibly sleep. The events of the night had left her with a strange, surreal feeling of calmness, like nothing could possibly happen to faze her now. Holly also was faced with a slight headache, mild feelings of angst, a noticeable hunger, and a very strange compulsion to make fun of pirated reruns of "Gilligan's Island."  
  
Hunger. Hunger she could deal with. She got up and began leafing half-heartedly through her fridge, not really expecting much, and not finding it either. All she wanted was something she could eat without hurting herself, or preferably not setting the building on fire (again.) Holly was no cook; she somehow always managed to scorch at least one meal a week, to a point of carbonized black molecules of ash that floated around her apartment for hours in a thick cloud of gray-black smoke. This was even more surprising since Holly's microwave was one of the first prototypes ever made, was permanently stuck on the "Wussy" setting, and barely had the power to heat a cup of cocoa from cold to lukewarm. She could probably buy a new one, but her theory with all 'unimportant' things -- namely things like temperature control, clothing, cooking, and decor -- was that, hell, if it still works, why bother?   
  
"Something simple," Holly announced, her voice echoing into the fridge. Something comforting. Something that didn't involve anything complicated, like heat, or cutting, or unwrapping, or defrosting, or Frond forbid SKILL. It was one thirty in the morning, some unknown source had gotten hold of human ivory, and the whole Lower Elements might unknowingly be the stakes in some sick card game. If Holly actually sat down and thought about this, she knew she might explode. Unfortunately the comfort food she wanted was wedged in the back between several gallon jugs of spring water, a crate of lemons (she'd recently been on a lemon-water spree,) a jar of jalapeno-peanut-pickle relish (a gift from her great-aunt Mathilda, who liked to can) and a brown paper bag filled with greasy, congealing takeout from Spud's Spud Emporium, which she was never going to touch, but didn't want to throw out. After some lightning fast and surprisingly creative rearranging, and being blasted unmercifully with freezing cold air, Holly fell backwards out of the fridge with a "Whoof." She clutched an untouched gallon of Moose Tracks ice cream to her chest, glaring at the fridge with the scornful triumph of one who has battled bravely and won. Carefully she felt the tips of her ears; no frostbite. "You didn't win this time, Frigidaire."  
  
The refrigerator didn't reply. It lurked, and bided its time.  
  
________________________________________________  
sound of genuine wooden soapbox being dragged across floor Ach, now I got a splinter! Where's my Swiss army knife... *vicious glower at everything, which dissolves into a water-buffalo-like yawn*  
________________________________________________  
L37 IS the Tara entrance chute right? Right? Well, sorry if it isn't my funniest work right now, there's this nagging little thing called a "plot line" that keeps getting in the way of all the flamingos, pink plastic toilet seats, and all-importantly, Bob. I'm trying my best to balance humor, since apparently I am best as a mildly funny humor writer, with this exotic beast. Basically what I'm going on sleepily/incoherently about here is that plotting is hard, humor is even harder, I work very very hard, and your time and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated. (Flattery isn't that bad, either... *raises eyebrow, toys with the leashes of several slavering flamingos*) So what do you think? More funny? More serious? More Netherworld Flamingo? More Bob?  
  
"Shimmata" is a Japanese swear word. A pyrophobe is someone afraid of fire. Private Lucretia is a tribute to Lucretia Noin of Gundam Wing. ^.^ If you see a term or character that you've never heard of, chances are it's mine. For the unenlightened (namely, people not from the Canada/New England region) Moose Tracks is a kind of ice cream sold here. What do you think of the new characters I'm trying to introduce?  
  
Next chapter I'll try to be shorter and funnier and maybe we'll see what Artemis is up to.  
  
I'm thinking quite seriously about a sequel, because I really want to write Artemis in school, with that attitude... so many possibilities... I'd say more, but there's a very small chance that Colfer might actually be reading this, and Lord knows I don't want HIM stealing MY ideas! *growls quietly and menacingly*   
  
Yrs in the Netherworld, Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
PS Why do Julius and Juliet have such similar first names? Does Colfer have a "Julie" fetish, or is there some private joke in there everyone gets but me? IT IS AN EVIL PLOT I SAY!  
_____________________________  
The Netherworld Flamingo Bulletin Board  
FREE DRINKS MENTIONS:  
All the following people will have their tabs erased, free drinks on the house, and Joe the Bouncer will look the other way if they get hyper. Choice of diet soda, Sprite, Dr. Pepper, Coke and other licensed brands with hundreds of copyrights, as well as Trouble's Drink.   
  
crazygirly007 -- Thanks so much! *laughs* Have a bogglefish! And careful of that chair... *ducks*  
becca -- Patience, my friend! Patience! *cackles* *cough* Sorry. I try.  
Vana Burke -- No, that's okay, you can flatter me all you like... *huge blush, maniacal laughter to cover it up* Thank you very much.  
Mage Kitty -- Thanks! I appreciate it, don't hurt yourself...  
Kitty Rainbow -- Last I checked, pet stores didn't have bogglefish, but you could always buy a goggle-eyed goldfish and paint it purple... 


	4. The Nameless Quoteless Songless Chapter

Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files  
By Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
And the plot roars on.  
  
Brief Note to Ensure Accuracy -- In response to crazygirly's really good insight that fairies are nocturnal (How did I miss that? HOW? .!!) I imagine their average workday to be from about 9 in the morning to 9 or 10 at night. Accurate, maybe not. Good hours though, for night owls like me. In response to Kitty Rainbow's helpful ice cream insight, Our Bible says that "fairies fear cold so much, some of them won't even eat ice cream" and I'm cheerfully putting all blame on Colfer. Try telling that to Holly; I think you're right, taking away her Moose Tracks would result in possible disembowelment. Also, I had NO idea that you can get Moose Tracks in England! We went to Florida and they didn't have it! (Oh, yes, Florida's not technically part of Earth.) *Happy!* Whoa, wait a minute. People in Europe are reading this? o.O I'm international... O_o  
  
Chapter Four: The Nameless Songless Quoteless Chapter  
______________________  
Saturday Morning  
Fowl Manor  
______________________  
  
Angeline Fowl quietly lay back in her bed, leafing pensively through a book, staring at page after page of print without really reading it. Her husband's incredibly quick typing rattled through the room like machine-gun fire. He was hunched over his laptop, fingers dashing across the ultrathin ergonomic keyboard without ever seeming to touch a key. Probably transferring some more of their money from discreet Swiss bank accounts into legitimate ventures. She did approve of him taking an interest in legal business, but wished it wouldn't occupy his time so much.   
  
Their son was growing up right before their eyes, and while they remained affectionate, it seemed now more than ever that Artemis the Second had his own agenda. Slipping out at night, dodging questions so skillfully it took Angeline a few hours to realize she'd been duped, and putting up such incredibly complex firewalls around his personal computer that not even his father -- one hell of a hacker in his own right -- could get past them. The senior Fowls convinced each other that this was normal teenage behavior, and apologized sincerely when their son demanded to know why his mother was sewing button cameras into his shirt buttons.  
  
"Tem, dear..." she began, sliding a beaten-copper bookmark between the pages so she wouldn't lose her place. There was a distinct problem with having a husband and son both named Artemis. She'd worked it out: Artemis Senior was nicknamed "Tem," Artemis Junior was "Arty." Neither of them liked this at all.  
  
"Mnh?" He made a half-listening noise with his nose.  
  
"I have something important to tell you. Put down the computer, please?"  
  
"Mnh." So he hadn't been half-listening at all, more like quarter-listening. Angeline tried to get his attention.  
  
"I've decided to become an international terrorist."  
  
"Mnh."  
  
"There's a radiation leak. We're moving the house to Monkey's Eyebrow, Illinois."  
  
"Mnh."  
  
"I'm pregnant."  
  
"Mnh."  
  
"Butler's pregnant."  
  
"Mnh."  
  
"Juliet has found religion and is leaving to live a chaste, isolate life on Mount Everest."  
  
"Mnh?"  
  
"I thought it would be a nice change to have some Russian Mafiya dons over for dinner tonight."  
  
"Mnh."  
  
"Butler's giving Artemis driving lessons." (This was true, but she wasn't supposed to know about it.)   
  
"Mnh?"  
  
"Arty got arrested by Interpol today."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"Oh, so you were listening. Good man."  
  
"ARTEMIS got ARRESTED?!" The elder Fowl spun around in his expensive swivel chair, almost falling off it.  
  
"No, dear, of course not. The psychiatrist did phone us today, something about manic-depressiveness, but otherwise he's behaving exceptionally well."  
  
"Artemis didn't get arrested?" He clung to the buttery leather arms of the chair as if it was a liferaft.  
  
Angeline sighed. For a crime lord with an off-the-chart IQ and extraordinary cunning, he was rather short on common sense. "No. He didn't. He's doing very well, making himself productive during vacation. I was trying to get your attention, dear."  
  
"Oh. Wasn't there some other way to do that?"  
  
"Eh, no, Tem, I'm afraid there wasn't. What were you doing?"  
  
He waved his hand dismissively -- "Those buggers at Enron were getting annoying anyway..." and trailed off. Angeline didn't want to press him further. "Artemis, I'm pregnant."  
  
"You're WHAT?"  
  
"Pregnant, dear."  
  
"With a baby?"  
  
"No, dear, with a Pekignese."  
  
His scarred face relaxed. "Oh, you're joking. Angeline, you don't need to do things like that just to get my attention." He got up from the chair with difficulty, stumped with his one good leg to the bed, sat down and took her hand. "You were joking, right?"  
  
"No. It's a baby. We're going to have another child."  
  
His brain, brilliant as it was, had trouble with this concept. As a result, it shut down completely, slinking off to a far corner of his consciousness to figure out 634 ways to win a game of chess in five moves. Without the brain to guide them, his mouth fell open like a drawbridge without a gatekeeper, and his blue eyes went on vacations to seperate corners of his head and took on a glazed look.  
  
"Artemis, dear?"  
  
"What- when- HOW?"  
  
"A baby," she answered, straight-faced. "About a month ago, and you should know, because you were there."   
  
______________________________  
Saturday Morning  
226 Acorn Avenue  
Haven City, Lower Elements  
_____________________________  
  
The alarm clock buzzed. Mutedly. It wasn't doing a very good job, or a very loud job, because it was muffled beneath several layers of clothing, blankets, papers, music disks and good old-fashioned dust.  
  
Strange lifeforms mutated quietly from the old socks gathered under the bed.  
  
There was a grunt, and a hand emerged from a slightly less junk-encrusted area that looked something like a bed. The hand felt around, but the alarm clock was lost forever, buzzing away forlornly in a dark corner that would never be found again. The hand came in contact with a shoe, and threw it in the general direction of the buzzing. There was a "NOIK!" sound, as if a mutating lifeform had been squashed just as it evolved into a sentient being. The buzzing stopped. Blessed silence.  
  
Then the poking began.  
  
Trouble Kelp stood in the doorway of the catastrophe that was his brother's bedroom, carefully not touching anything that might result in contamination. His features were an oil painting entitled "Disgust." He held a long poker in one hand, made of an old mop handle, some wooden spoons and a few random sticks taped together. He used this to poke at a largish mound that he assumed to be Grub's bed.  
  
"Get up."  
  
"Naw, ish Shattaday." Came a muffled, sleepy voice from within the Depths.  
  
Poke. Poke. "Get up, Grub."  
  
There was a small landslide, and several blankets and an old team jacket fell off the largish mound. A sleepy face with bright magenta hair poked out of the Cavern.  
  
Trouble dropped the Wake-Up-Poker in astonishment. "You DYED your hair PINK?"  
  
"Ish na' pink. 'S magenta. Wassa dare." Apparently words were coming hard to this creature, which looked like it had one hell of a sugar-low hangover.  
  
"But -- but -- why?"  
  
"Ya don' wanna know, Trubb." There was another cascade of laundry, and the magenta hair disappeared. "G'way."  
  
Trouble eyed the fallen Poker, which had fallen to Grub's floor, into a puddle of something green and sticky. He picked it up gingerly on his toe and flipped it into his hands. Poke. Poke. "Get up."  
  
"D'Arvit!! Go 'way!"   
  
Poke, poke, poke.   
  
A hand reached out from the disaster, grabbed the end of the Wake-Up-Poker, and broke it. Trouble growled; now he couldn't reach. There was no way he was stepping forth into the Eternal Mess of Grub's Room. He was half afraid a tentacle was going to emerge from a lair of forgotten laundry and grab his ankle, even as he stood in the doorway. Brilliant captain of the LEP, he decided to try a more subtle, psychological tactic.  
  
"Breakfast is ready."   
  
The captain stood aside, wincing, as a smaller, magenta-haired form shot past him hungrily, dressed only in boxers and socks. "Food!" It skidded into the kitchen, sliding on its slippery socks. There was a large crash and several smaller clatters. Like an annoying younger brother getting pummeled by pots and pans falling off a cheap rack. Trouble smirked faintly; perhaps he shouldn't have placed the rack right in the middle of the floor, which he had used two bottles of Gnome Brand Mop 'n' Shine on? No, he lived for moments like these.  
  
"And why do I share an apartment with you?" Trouble wondered as he walked into the kitchen, fully washed and dressed in his LEP uniform. He untaped the various parts of the Wake-Up-Poker and put them away, then started cleaning up the mess.  
  
"Cuzza Mum," Grb slurred through a mouthful of Extra Loaded Sugar Frosted Bogglefish Krispies. His head was in his hands and he shoveled food into his mouth at an amazing pace, although his eyes looked glazed.   
  
"Oh, yes, Mum. Remind me to call her when I get back home." Trouble reached for the box of cereal to put it back.   
  
Grub looked up, eyes smoldering, and growled menacingly.   
  
"Eheheh." His older brother wisely backed off, leaving the cereal alone. Grub returned to eating like a starving troll and looking completely plastered.  
  
Trouble headed towards the door. "Going to work. Don't make more of an ass out of yourself than you already are."  
  
"But it's Saturday," Grub said, suddenly coherent.   
  
"Don't I know it." Trouble opened the door. "D'you hear me? If Mrs. Brackley reports you to Noise Ordinance again, I'm not going to bail you out. Got it?"  
  
"Goosnargh," Grub mumbled incomprehensibly. Apparently his brief bout of coherence had passed. Now he just looked hung over.  
  
Trouble snorted and stormed to work. He didn't care what was waiting for him there, it was good just to get out of the house.  
  
___________________________  
Fowl Manor  
___________________________  
  
"If a 2-ton train moving 70 miles an hour travels 890 miles in two days and stops at noon to refuel, at what speed will it hit a pickup truck moving 50 miles an hour?" Artemis looked up severely. "This one is easy."  
  
Juliet Butler gaped at him. "Wha--"  
  
"Use your head, Juliet!"   
  
"I- I'm trying, Artemis. I just don't think I'm cut out for college," the teenager pleaded. "I've already got a career bodyguarding your mum. I don't need to get a degree."  
  
Artemis slammed the textbook down on the table and glared at her with those famous blue eyes. Juliet cringed slightly under that glare -- as most people would. "You're almost eighteen. She's thirty-eight. What are you going to do when Mother dies?"  
  
"Bodyguard your kids, I guess," Juliet replied tentatively.  
  
Artemis continued the glare. "And if I don't choose to reproduce?"  
  
"I'll get married to Sean and have my own kids, thank you very much. I don't need to be a bodyguard to have a complete and satisfying life." Juliet slammed her chair back and twirled her hair moodily, intent on ignoring the dagger-shaped looks Artemis was flinging steadily in her direction.   
  
All three Fowls and her own brother were conspiring against Juliet, plotting to get her into college. They said she needed to be mature, to have experience, to build her character. Like Butler. He'd done hundreds of jobs before Master Artemis was born; he'd worked as a mercenary, a sensei, a translator, a boxer; worked out and trained and studied for years; had made enemies, but also allies and connections along the way. Now look at what an accomplished bodyguard he was. Juliet, on the other hand, had lived a sheltered life. Everyone had decided that she needed to realize her full potential, and so they decided -- without her consent, mind you! -- that she was going to get into college at the very least. Now young Master Artemis had agreed to tutor her, "So that this summer won't be a total waste." Feck them, feck all of them. Especially that horrid little dwarf Master Artemis was keeping in the basement, which she wasn't supposed to know about.  
  
Artemis stared at her scathingly, then grabbed the book again. Damned if he was going to be beaten by his mum's bodyguard. He'd grown up with Juliet and loved her almost like a sister, within his own definition of love. Of course he was high above her in every way except age and height, and she was an immature blonde, flirtatious, gullible, easily distracted, even -- dare he think it? -- ditzy. She was going to get into college, though, or he would die in the attempt. "A train is leaving London at 3:20," he gritted. "At what rate--"  
  
"Feck the London trains. They never run on time. It was probably supposed to leave at two. Who cares about all these stupid fecking trains?" Juliet snarled, dropping her chair onto all four feet again. She clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. "Oops. Sorry, Artemis, I--"  
  
He just glared at her viciously. "Fine, then, do it yourself." He threw the book across the table and stormed off.  
  
A voice from under the table chuckled roughly. "Heh heh heh. Look who made the little mastermind snap."  
  
Juliet squeaked and fell out of her chair with a thud. Mulch Diggums emerged from under the library table, cackling to himself. "You? Trying to get into college, eh? Heh, heh, heh-- ACK!"  
  
"YOU KILLED MY KITTY, YOU LITTLE---"  
  
"Juliet, put him DOWN." Butler stood in the doorway like an annoyed bear, massive arms folded against his chest. "What have I told you about strangling the dwarf?"  
  
The blonde reluctantly unclasped her fingers from Mulch's neck, and the dwarf fell to the expensively carpeted floor with an oddly metallic sound. A few spoons fell out of his pockets, which he tried to hide by scooting over and sitting on them innocently. Juliet and Mulch looked at each other, then turned as one and gave Butler puppy dog eyes. He looked back at them stonily. "Stealing spoons, Diggums? Strangling coworkers, Juliet? I'm very disappointed in you both."  
  
Childishly, they pointed the fingers of blame at each other.  
  
"He started it."  
  
"She's insane."  
  
"Oh, yeah? You're the one with the collection of--"  
  
"ENOUGH!" Butler raised his voice slightly, which had the effect of a minor earthquake. "Is it impossible for there to be any normalcy in this house?"  
  
"Yes." Artemis the Second had returned from his brief temper tantrum, and stood in the hall behind Butler. "It is Fowl Manor, after all. Juliet, Mother wants you."  
  
She grunted ungracefully and left in a huff. Artemis turned to the other three. "I've decided to drop the bank idea. The stakeout isn't going well. It's too well-guarded; trying anything will just cause too much disturbance. Time for a new plan of action."  
  
"We don't need a new plan of action, Fowl." Mulch stood up, subtly tucking the spoons back into his pocket. "You've got plenty of money. Especially now that your dad's back. What's the point? We're financially secure."  
  
Artemis eyed him levelly. "And that's why you're quietly stockpiling the family silver?" He held up a handful of matching spoons. "If you need to keep in practice, do so on someone else's valuables."  
  
"Didn't do it."  
  
"I'm sure."   
  
"What did you have in mind, Artemis?" Butler asked quickly before another argument could start. How ironic that he was always playing the peacemaker.  
  
"An idea of an idea," Artemis replied vaguely, but his eyes were sparking. The game was afoot.  
  
__________________________________  
Root's Office  
Lower Elements  
_________________________________  
  
"Quit the theatrics, Foaly! What have you got?"  
  
After five minutes of hearing the centaur rant, rave and squeal ("This is a disaster, Julius, I can't believe you didn't tell me sooner!") Root was losing patience like a cat in a washing machine. "Do you want me to call in a medic and pump you full of tranquilizer?"  
  
Foaly perked up, wiggling his eyebrows. "Which medic?"  
  
"An old, ugly, male one. With nose hair."  
  
"I'm fine, I'm fine. You have no sense of humor, Julius." Slightly calmer, Foaly proudly set what looked like a portable computer on Root's desk. "There you go. All the information you need."  
  
The commander stared at it dubiously. "And what the hell is this?"  
  
"The database! The database of all things dangerous to the People, and how to work against them. We've got a whole section on combating the effects of iron and radiation, thousands of entries on first aid, gigabytes on how to practice safe hex (really, they should be teaching hex education in school these days,) an entire chapter on underground claustrophobia, a hundred and one treatments for frostbite..."  
  
"I only want information on ivory, Foaly."  
  
"Well, there you go!" The technician pushed the computer a little closer. "This menu here has the advanced search engine, which will cut down on cross-referencing and one-word occurences."  
  
Root eyed the device warily, as if it was going to leap forward at any minute and bite the tip off his cigar. "No."  
  
"No?" Foaly whinnied in disbelief. "What do you mean, no? This is the most--"  
  
"No. Just get me information on human ivory, and print it out. Hard copy. I'm not dealing with this all this high-technology stuff, that's your job."  
  
"Julius, computers have been around over five centuries! They're here to stay! It's about time you got used to using them."  
  
"No," Root said firmly, chewing his cigar with a no-nonsense look. "Print it for me, Foaly."  
  
"But, Julius, that's grunt work!"  
  
"Congratulations, you're a grunt. Print it. Hard copy. Now take this computer thing away before it catches a virus, or whatever they do when they aren't wanted."  
  
Foaly gathered up the rejected computer with a deeply wounded look, like it was a poor little puppy that Root had just brutally kicked. Shooting the commander several dirty looks, which were completely ignored, the centaur clopped slowly to the doorway. Halfway there, he turned and shot back, "Think of all the trees you're killing."  
  
"The paper's been recycled five times, Foaly. Besides, it's in a good cause. Now get out."  
  
There was an equine snort as Foaly stomped off, muttering. "Technician of my caliber, being asked to print a piddling document like some unskilled, underpaid little fairy secretary. No offense," he told an extremely offended-looking secretary.  
  
"That's administrative assistant, you donkey-eared fool!" the secretary screamed. Foaly ignored her as he cuddled the computer to his chest and kept walking. Furious, the administrative assistant slouched low in her chair and plotted on how to get her revenge. Next time the smartass technician asked her to staple a document, or better yet, sent her for coffee...  
  
___________________________  
3.752 Minutes later  
__________________________  
  
"There. All printed, Julius. I hope you're happy." Pouting -- though he would never admit that it was within his dignity to pout -- Foaly dropped a stack of multi-recycled papers onto the desk with a thud. "I'll have you know I got a paper cut doing this."  
  
"Save it for the insurance company." Root leafed through the documents. Certain phrases leapt out at him -- "Human ivory is one of the Five Poisons, the others being rowan, radiation, iron and ice..." "Inhibits the Gift, effectively stripping and blocking healing powers and stopping all magic processing..." "Can be used as a deadly weapon. Wounds caused by human ivory cannot be automatically healed..."  
  
"So what's the big deal?" Root growled, shuffling the papers together. "The five poisons are ancient history."  
  
"Well, not really." Foaly replied confidently, slipping into Lecture Mode. "We've already evolved immunity to rowan and iron; those were on the way out in the sixteenth century. Now they're just annoying. Ice and cold aren't really big killers anymore -- most fairies just instinctively avoid them. Radiation can be countered by gels, suits, the Gift. They're still poison, but we can do something about it."   
  
Root was still scowling. He sensed a flaw in this logic. "This whole bit about human ivory inhibiting the Gift. Can't be right. We can heal humans just fine."  
  
"Part of their natural biology." The Foaly Lecture Mode was in full swing. "When a tooth is connected to the nerves, it's still a living thing, and it isn't dangerous. Once it's dead, it's dangerous. Although there was a case about ninety years ago when a little teething baby bit a sprite in the wing. Sprite died within the week. Freak occurence. It's in the book." Foaly drummed his fingers on the stack. "I realize you want the information, but my abilities are better used elsewhere. Why don't you get your secretary to read it to you?"  
  
Root set his cigar down, leaned forward, and grabbed Foaly by the beard. The commander's mud brown eyes were dangerous, and his face began going red as he growled, "One. She's not my secretary, she works for everyone on this floor. Two. I'm the commander. You're the technician. Three. I'm not in a good mood. Four. I'm the commander. You're the technician."   
  
"Point --- taken ----!" Foaly squeaked.  
  
Root released the beard. "The boys and girl will be coming in soon. I'm going to the ward. Have fun printing more intel, Foaly boy."  
  
He left the centaur sputtering like a lawnmower refusing to start.  
  
______________________________  
Holly's Apartment  
_____________________________  
  
Holly groaned as she dragged her clothes on. "Bob?"  
  
The fish burped.  
  
"Remind me never to eat Moose Tracks with Great Aunt Mathilda's jalapeno-pepper-peanut pickle relish during times of awful stress, okay?"  
  
The fish looked at the wall.  
  
"And if it be at all possible, stop me from washing the lot down with a drink made of a mixture of everything in the fridge, because I was stupidly trying to recreate Trouble's drink?"  
  
The fish looked at his seaweed.  
  
"And then, please use physical force to keep me from watching 'Blackadder' for three hours afterward while eating nachos, strawberries and cheese?"  
  
The fish ate a piece of food.  
  
"And then, never, under any circumstances allow me to go to work the next morning."  
  
The fish spit the food out.  
  
"Thank you for your support, Bob." Holly went to work. A piece of metal fell off her door as she slammed it behind her.  
______________________________  
Emergency Medical Ward  
______________________________  
  
Junior Medic Janisha Silver was catching a much-needed nap. Thin tendrils of her dark purple hair had worked their way out of her ponytail, and hung lifelessly around her swept-back ears and sleeping features. Her intern's uniform was stained and dirty, and there was a spot of her patient's blood drying on the side of her face. She was curled up in an uncomfortable position on the hard plastic chair outside the ward.  
  
"Wake up, intern," a voice ordered, shaking her shoulder. The young warlock awoke with a start, pale green eyes snapping open. "Sir?" She sat bolt upright, gasping as she realized who was talking to her. "Commander Root. I--"  
  
"Fell asleep."  
  
"Yes, sir, I'm sorry, I---"  
  
"Leaving a potentially dangerous patient alone and unguarded, in critical condition."  
  
"I've been working all night and morning, sir. I think I've run dry."  
  
Suspicious, Root looked down at the scared-looking warlock. If she stood up, she might be even taller than him; they were a tall species, full of the healing Gift. It would take a lot of work to make a warlock run dry. "Hold out your hand, intern."  
  
She did, tentatively. Without warning, Root pulled a small knife from his pocket and pricked his finger. As blood welled up into the cut, he took Silver's long blue gray fingers and pressed them to the tiny wound. A single tiny blue spark leapt from her fingers and sluggishly tried to repair the damage, and the medic's whole body slumped. She really was dry, to the point of near collapse.  
  
A faint, almost fatherly smile barely carved itself on Root's features. "Go plant an acorn, intern. And call in for reinforcements next time."  
  
"Yes, sir." Silver smiled back weakly and stood up to her full height, a whopping four foot one. Slightly unsteady on her feet, she saluted half-heartedly and started down the hall.  
  
______________________________________  
It was starting to get a little boring, so...  
______________________________________  
  
Bob was in rapture.  
  
He had Discovered something.  
  
A three-month-old piece of seaweed was in his tank.  
  
He felt very proud of himself.  
  
He tried to eat it, but that didn't work. He tried to fall on his knees and worship it, but he didn't have knees. He burped, and that seemed to settle it. The bubble he burped was a new thing to worship, so he did that. It got a little boring after a while, so he decided to escape.  
  
Bob's Escape Plan was very simple. However, he couldn't remember it for the life of him, so he just settled for swimming very fiercely in one direction. The bogglefish was only slightly hindered by the fact that there was a sudden astonishing plastic wall in front of him, and he kept bumping his nose against it. Eventually he floated backwards and bumped into the other wall. Then he turned upside down, and Discovered the Ceiling.  
  
What WAS that? Was it a grapefruit? Bob didn't know what a grapefruit was; it just seemed like an intelligent thing to wonder. Was HE a grapefruit? Maybe it wasn't a grapefruit. Maybe it was food! Was it something to worship? How do you worship a ceiling? Why is it upside down? If he swam into it, would he bump his nose? Are grapefruits bumpy? What is a grapefruit anyway? My God! What IS it?  
  
This kept him busy for the next two hours. Then he Discovered the Mysterious Secret of Gulping, and was amused for the whole day.  
_______________________________  
Howler's Peak   
High Maintenance Goblin Prison  
Arctic Core  
_______________________________  
  
Alone in her small bleak cell, a pixie meditated, a little catlike smile on her face. Every once in a while she would look up and hum along with the constant screams and howls of the Arctic wind outside, muffled by tons of concrete and steel.   
  
She looked up uninterestedly as a guard went by. It cast a slim shadow through the tiny window of her cell door. Strange, most of the guards were built like crunchball players -- heavy and thick. The guard paused and looked in at her, the unflattering prison light coldly pouring over features that could only be described as Gothic. Pale skin, dark hair, shadowed eyes, scrawny figure, giving off the general aura that at any moment this person would slink off to read depressing novels or post angsty poetry on the Internet.   
  
"Hello, Opal," the Gothic person said in a voice that completely suited them. "Do have time for a quick question?"  
  
______________  
*drags self to keyboard, collapses completely*   
  
Have you noticed that whenever we writers paint ourselves into a corner, we use one of five things to explain us out?  
  
1. "It was all a dream!"   
2. Blatant plothole  
3. Reinforcements bursting down the door, just in time  
4. A convenient heating duct, air vent or titanium rod  
5. Foaly, to arrogantly explain our troubles away.  
  
Hell, if Colfer does it, so will I.  
  
Was it way too short? Didn't answer all the questions or tie up any loose ends? Still got gaping plotholes to Spackle? Please, tell these things to Joe the Bouncer. *nods to him* No, really. I'm so sorry, I've been really pressed for time. The drinks mixer down at the Flamingo exploded, because the idiot elf I hired couldn't grasp the simple concept of "you don't EVER put this in water, especially not if it's still turned on and running." You are all hugely appreciated and as soon as I repair the damages everyone can have free drinks. But please review. Right now, I'm too tired to beg you, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate it.  
  
Yrs in the Netherworld, Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
PS What do you think of Janisha Silver? I thought she was neat to have. You don't hear about the warlocks much. I drew a picture of her -- just email me or let me know in a review and I'll send you it, it's 26 KBs. Now I'm going to crawl into a hole and sleep for like sixteen hours. 


	5. Of Nighthawks and SeeingEye Emus

Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files  
By Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
Chapter Five: Of Nighthawks and Seeing-Eye Emus  
  
Oh, look at how she listens,  
She says nothing of what she thinks...  
she just goes stumbling through her memories  
staring out onto Grey Street.  
But she thinks "Hey,  
how did I come to this?  
I dreamed myself a thousand times around the world  
but I can't get out of this place."  
-- "Grey Street," Dave Matthews Band  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Artemis Fowl, or the Skittles commercial. I hate that commercial! It just really annoys me! Sorry about the innuendoes, general weirdness, Juliet's diary. It was a long night. I also had the strange compulsion to completely blow the minds of everyone who writes for the "Lord of the Rings" fandom, or at least scar them a little. Now countless rabid fans will be writhing on the floor going "Why?! Why, Opal, why?!" The answer: Mostly because Opal and I find mind games amusing. Mwah hah ha hah!  
  
Author Notes: Undernet is a term I came up with for the underground Internet. It's mine. All mine. And no pop-up ads. *evil laughter* Of course, my original clause holds true; all my characters and concepts may be borrowed, WITH permission. ^_^  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Dedications: To crazygirly007 and Horatio; Kitty Rainbow; Mage Kitty; IntriKate. All I can say is... thank you.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
__________________________  
Saturday Morning about 10:00 AM  
Fowl Manor  
__________________________  
  
Artemis passed his parent's bedroom and paused for an instant. It was ... good to hear the sounds of their voices. He'd missed it for a long time. It was when he began to concentrate on what they were saying that he began to get worried.  
  
"And who will we choose for a bodyguard?" his father's voice asked.  
  
"A Butler, of course, dear," his mother answered.  
  
"Yes, but whom? Jacques is working hard enough as it is." Leaning closer to hear better, Artemis frowned. Jacques? Who was Jacques?   
  
"He's already escorting Arty all around that school, not to mention keeping an eye on me. Ever since his uncle died..." Artemis Senior didn't have to finish that sentence, "... on the 'Morning Star'..."   
  
The Artemis waiting outside blinked several times, attempting to keep all this in order. Butler's late uncle had been his father's bodyguard; now Butler was working double-time in an effort to keep the old tradition alive, 'every Fowl has a Butler not far behind.' However, he'd never known that his escort's first name was Jacques. It seemed strangely incongruous.  
  
"Well... isn't there a Butler in the South China Sea? I hear he's very well qualified."  
  
"He's a monk. Vows of religion, you know.'Do no harm to any living beast,' so he beats up palm trees."  
  
"Ah. Well... what about Chauncey Butler-Mercedes?"  
  
"She's seventy years old, is only a second cousin, and lives in Saskatchewan. On a ranch, where she trains emus as guide animals for the blind."   
  
There was a long and painful pause.   
  
"And don't mention the emus, either, dear," Angeline added, "They're very well trained, but I don't trust giant flightless birds."  
  
There was another long and painful pause as both parties pondered that sentence. "What about Juliet?" his father finally asked.  
  
"She's already MY bodyguard, dear, and she's trying so hard to go to college!"  
  
"Who else do we have?"  
  
"She barely has any experience! For heaven's sake, she's only eighteen. And I did want her to go to college!"  
  
"Juliet? In college?"  
  
"She's doing a very good job on all the tests."  
  
"Ha!" Artemis Senior scoffed.  
  
"Tem, don't be cruel! She's really a good girl at heart!"  
  
"Really? Then what do you make of this?" Artemis Junior strained to see what was going on, but couldn't quite see what his father handed his mother. Then, however, he heard Angeline's disbelieving voice, "You READ her DIARY? How could you, Artemis! How could you?" There was the sound of a page turning. "Oh. Oh... That is not the word I would have used to describe our son! Oh. Oooh..." More astonished exclamations, and then Angeline added thoughtfully, "Well, he does inherit his tight, er, rear end from my side of the family. Ooh, but listen to this; 'still too young to tell, yet icon of hotness in the making!!' Oh, Tem, where have we gone wrong?"  
  
Artemis the Second restrained the instinctive impulse to fall over, clutch his hair, and scream. It wouldn't be dignified. He staggered away from the door, glazedly, and walked straight into a suit of armor. Never a fun experience, even in the best of times.  
  
When Butler finally extracted him and got him to a couch, he interpreted the young man's incoherent, wildly-out-of-character gibbering, twitching and frozen wide eyes as Raging Teenage Hormones. It happens to all of us, he thought with the arrogant wisdom of someone who is definitely not a teenager anymore.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Holly staggered into the workplace in the earliest stage of severe caffeine withdrawal. Anyone who looked into her wild, darkly shadowed hazel eyes would wisely put as much distance between her and them as possible, preferably across a field of ripe land mines, lest she go for their necks at the slightest provocation. She slunk into Root's empty office and looked around.  
  
"Gooooood morning, Holly." Foaly, smiling brightly with his big horsy teeth, planted himself (unwisely) in her path. There were no land mines between them. The scattered onlookers watched with morbid fascination.   
  
"Foaly," she gritted, "Where is he?"  
  
"Who?" The centaur's smile turned into a familiar annoying smirk. "God? Well, that's arguable, Holly. Or is "he" dear Captain Kelp? In that case, right behind you. Unless by "he," you mean your secret lover--"  
  
A wad of paper suddenly wedged in his mouth, and he was physically pushed out of the office.   
  
"Out, out, damned spot," Holly thought, smirking her own brand of annoying smirk. Aloud, she said, as politely as she could manage, "Good morning, Captain Kelp. Thank you for doing that."  
  
"Good morning, Captain Short. You're welcome -- besides, I've always wanted to." Her old classmate looked tired, frazzled, apprehensive, haggard, and all the other things Holly felt and probably looked as well. However, he didn't have the half-crazed caffeine-hungry look she had. He probably had found coffee somewhere, the lucky son of a swear toad.  
  
Outside, a certain centaur was ambushed and cornered in a cubicle by a certain administrative assistant. With a vengeful gleam in her eyes, the scorned secretary scotch-taped the papers more securely into his mouth, stapled his beard to a 542-page smuggling report, and put his newest tinfoil hat through her paper shredder. The scattered onlookers looked on, resisting the urge to applaud. They didn't want to come into work the next morning and find their hard drives erased and replaced with an animated icon of Foaly going "Laugh at me, will you? Nyah, nyah, nyah!" But inside Root's office, they couldn't hear any of that.  
  
"So, what's the news?" Holly asked, determined not to snap. Subtly she manuevered herself around Root's large, cigar-scorched desk. A shark that smelled a kill on the horizon, she pulled open a drawer.  
  
Caffeine?   
  
No caffeine.   
  
Instead, several nasty fungus cigars. She stared at them with narrowed, ruthless golden eyes. Was she desperate enough to chew on one?  
  
Trouble was talking. Holly wasn't listening. She appeared to be trying to dig a tunnel through Root's desk. Trouble, beginning to get worried, cleared his throat nervously. She glared up at him. "Is there any caffeine in this?" she demanded, holding up a horrible, moldy, fungus-riddled cigar.  
  
Trouble eyed it warily; it looked like something dug out of his little brother's room. "Nicotine, yes. Caffeine, no. Poison, most definitely. Why?"  
  
"D'Arvit." Holly slammed the drawer shut and slumped moodily in Root's chair. "I can't live through this day without some kind of -- AHA!" Acting on some inborn caffeine-seeking instinct ((A/N: This is how we teenage girls find Easter candy three weeks before Easter, in case you were wondering ^_^)) she flung herself to the floor and started untacking the shabby carpet.  
  
Trouble just watched, determined not to be surprised at anything anymore. Apparently the fates were just out to screw him and turn him into a raving psychopath, so he just wasn't going to react to this... insanity.  
  
"Eureka! Tasssste the Rainbow!" Holly squealed in a voice several octaves above her normal one, then started a victory wardance. She twirled around, clutching the brightly colored packet of sugary candy in one fist.   
  
Trouble just watched. Holly was imitating a Skittles commercial. Story of his life.  
  
There was a knock at the door. A strangely triumphant-looking administrative assistant, her cheeks flushed with the glory of victory (and the knowledge that her computer would be riddled with bugs every day until both of them died) poked her head inside the office. "Commander's in the emergency ward of the medic building, wants you to haul butt over there." She vanished.  
  
"Janus looks happy today," Holly commented between ravenously scarfing down Skittles and choking down a bottle of liquid she'd just found. Who knew what it was; it could have been floor polish, but she was past caring. Anything to take away the strange sugary feel Skittles leave in your mouth.  
  
Trouble sighed. He had an inkling of what had just happened to the head technician. "You have no idea."  
  
"Heh." Holly stuffed the now-empty packet of Skittles into the cushions of Root's chair. "Let's go see what our commander is up to, eh?"  
  
------------------------------  
Howler's Peak  
High Security Goblin Prison  
-----------------------------  
  
Opal almost purred as she stroked the sleek brushed-steel surface of the tiny computer. Her emerald green eyes danced, her wings vibrated with a stifled joy. She opened it and caressed the smooth keyboard. Beautiful. It was beautiful. If it was worth anything.   
  
She looked up with a suspicious half-scowl at the person waiting outside, dark eyes shadowed in a pale and narrow face. "Wireless modem?"  
  
"Check," said the person in a coldly monotonous voice.  
  
"Access to the Undernet?"   
  
"Check."  
  
Opal's green eyes narrowed hopefully. "Access to the Internet?"  
  
"Yes." The person tilted their head to one side with a rustle. "I didn't have to add the Internet, you know. It was an extra. I'm a good friend to have."  
  
"Time will tell," Opal murmured. She'd heard that before. "Time and a trial by fire." A sudden horror struck her. "Oh, gods, tell me it doesn't have Netzero."  
  
"It has a unique Web browser, made by myself. Unlimited Internet access. No banner ads."  
  
"Does it have... a pop-up blocker?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And support services for fanfiction.net?"  
  
Those stark dark eyes actually blinked. "Now why under Earth would you want that?"  
  
Opal shrugged. "I write slash for Lord of the Rings. Well, I did, until they put me in this trollpit."  
  
There was a very, very strange silence.   
  
Not even the Arctic wind, which howled constantly around the prison, could bring itself to blow after that mind-blowing statement.  
  
There was a strange grinding, crunching sound, as all of the reader's brains shifted gears and slammed into reverse. Using a stick transmission. Without a clutch.  
  
Finally the person spoke, every syllable dripping incredulity. If it was possible for so Gothic a person to bleat and gibber, they would have. "WHAT? Koboi, I'd heard you were insane, but--"  
  
"Fine, never mind."   
  
"Bu-- gi-- me-- I--" The person paused and rocked slightly. "Everything anyone ever told me was a lie," they stated monotonously, managed to wrap their mind around that fact, and moved on. "Very well. You have your computer and access to the outside world." (The person decided to ignore the disturbing way Opal was clutching the computer to her chest, cackling, and imitating the voices of various actors.) "We had a deal. In return, I want my information."   
  
"Oh, all right." Opal stood up reluctantly and moved closer to the prison door. She looked up critically at her new savior. "First, give me a name to call you. Second, give me your gender."  
  
Startled, the person paused. "Why?"  
  
"So that I don't keep calling you 'this person' in my head, and..." Opal tossed her head, "So I know if I should flirt with you, or call you sister and sympathize about the boyfriend who left."  
  
There was a long-suffering sigh. "Very well. I am male, and you may call me Takaban. I'm getting impatient, Opal."  
  
"All right. Human ivory blocks the Gift. In the old days, we used to buy it from children who had just lost their baby teeth. It was used to subdue prisoners and criminals until it was banned by the Atlantis Convention. That's where the Tooth Fairy myth came from."  
  
There was an edgy rustle in the hall outside. Opal stroked her new computer. "You're quite fidgety, Takaban. Did you deal with the guards?"  
  
"They're under the mesmer, Koboi. In theory, we have plenty of time."   
  
"Well. If nobody notices that the Tooth Fairy seems to be walking again, you stand a good chance of collecting enough ivory to immobilize Haven. I might help you, in exchange for my freedom... and a few other things."  
  
"I'll think about it. Thank you for your advice, Koboi. I'll come again."  
  
"See you then." Opal turned away and kissed her keyboard. "Font of inspiration for every aspiring writer," she whispered to the computer, "Serve me well and earn me many, many reviews..."  
  
Takaban walked away, shaking his head disbelievingly. He folded his raven-like wings to his back with a rustle. Behind him, one black feather fell lightly to the floor.  
  
_______________________________________________________________________________  
Ha ha ha ha! My badguy has a name! "Takaban" means "Nighthawk" in Japanese. Deep in the fundamental heart and mind of the Universe, there is a reason.  
  
Thanks to Artemis Fowl the Second for confirming that book number three in the series, "Artemis Fowl: The Eternity Code" is for real, not just a cruel rumor. Am I alone in hoping that Colfer will finally do something with Butler's possible Gift, like Root hinted at the end of the first book? Obsessed? Yes I am.  
  
Thanks to everyone for their reviews. Keep up! Please! It's important to me. I do all this work for you.  
  
I remain, as ever,  
  
Yours in the Netherworld,  
  
Caspian Nyghtvision 


	6. Complications

Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files  
By Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
Chapter Six: Complications  
Why'd you have to go and make things so complicated?  
I see the way you're acting like you're somebody else gets me   
frustrated  
Life's like this you  
And you fall and you crawl and you break  
and you take what you get and you turn it into honesty  
and promise me I'm never gonna find you fake it  
--- "Complicated" by Avril Lavigne. (Who else?)  
______________________  
Amendments  
_____________________  
  
Thanks to everyone for pointing out things that I somehow missed. The ship is "The Fowl Star," not "the Morning Star;" Artemis the Second's nickname is "Timmy," not "Temmy," and flamingos are "irregular breeders and may only breed sucessfully every two or three years." Free drinks to artyfan108, Kitty Rainbow, and "Encyclopedia of Animals" respectively for pointing these things out. I will personally pour them as soon as I am done sobbing in my room and tearing my hair out. These past weeks I have been in no state to write, but have insisted on doing so anyway, so please forgive those plotholes.  
  
Chapter Five has been reissued with corrections.  
  
Thanks to the Reviewer for pointing out that Holly is Out Of Character. There is actually a reason for this. Sort of. My logic makes sense to me, but I realize that a lot of people out there are (surprisingly) not me, so I suppose I should explain myself before anybody gets hurt.  
  
The Holly we know in the books is creative, resourceful, brilliant, sometimes devious, impudent, occasionally disrespectful to authority, stubborn, loyal, fiery, proud, and above all, Holly keeps her cool. She's feisty, energetic, determined, and goes her own way, torpedoes be damned. Although she's good at heart, she can be mean and bitingly sarcastic, and it's hard for her to show that she cares. If you're into astrology, Holly is a classic Aries. If you readers are frothing at the mouth demanding where I'm getting all this, I will cite chapter and verse evidence.  
  
The Holly I'm showing has not come under fire yet. At this point, all I've written of her are scenes at home or with friends. Thus, she acts different. Not necessarily out of character, though I accept that I haven't been very clear with that. Mostly, what I'm aiming for is casual. It is also humor, after all.  
  
No person is completely one-dimensional. The person you are on the Internet is completely different from the person you are to your parents; you may act insane and immature around your friends, but you act cool around the little kid who looks up to you. The person you need to be when battling trolls and hacking your way out of a concrete cell is different from the person you are at home, when nothing's at stake and nobody's watching except for a fish.  
  
Go ahead. Ask me another one.  
  
_____________________  
Saturday Morning  
Same time as we last left off  
Underground, Haven City  
Emergency Medical Ward  
________________________________________  
  
Holly sprinted down the halls with Trouble in tow. It reminded her of the old days in the LEP Academy, where she had first met some of her present comrades, and they had to flee the scenes of their crimes. She vaguely remembered running like this with Trouble and a few other classmates behind her, escaping from the scene of some prank she couldn't quite recall. She thought it had something to do with lima beans and Wing Commander Vinyaya's desk. They had all been rather wild back then.  
  
They shot past a desk, where a warlock intern noticed them go by and dashed after them. "Hey, wait!" he shouted, waving his arms. "Captain Kelp? Your brother's on the line! Something about a water main explosion and a Mrs. Brackley. He says you've been evicted."  
  
Trouble slammed on the brakes, spun on his heel and glared savagely at the intern. "Oh, just shout it out all over Haven, why don't you?"  
  
"Sorry, sir," the intern said meekly as a small crowd of People appeared out of nowhere and gathered around with interest.  
  
"I have an appointment with the commander. Tell him to deal with it himself, for Frond's sake!"  
  
"Sir, he insists. He's threatening to call your mother."  
  
The tips of Trouble's ears flushed red as the magically-formed small crowd began to titter. He was now faced with a choice he had never wished to make. He had to choose between Julius Root and Ma Kelp. Would he rather be court-martialed and lose his job in disgrace -- or beaten unmercifully with a wooden spoon, then have to suffer hour after hour of furious lecturing, wrist-spanking, blackmail and "You call THAT looking after your brother?!"  
  
"D'Arvit. D'Arvit, d'Arvit, D'ARVIT." Trouble stormed past the intern, snarling several curse words that were too horrible to even think about translating. "Get my blankety-blank brother on the blank-blank-blanking line. Blank. Go ahead without me, Holly," he called ahead.  
  
______________________  
Meanwhile, in Fowl Manor...  
______________________  
  
The very foundations of everything he knew to be true were blown apart by a bio-bomb. The scattered pieces of his mind languished, screamed in tiny little voices, and burned like ants under a magnifying glass. Then the alchoholic squirrel of emotion staggered onto the battlefield of his brain, gathering up the burnt cinders of reality and pasting them randomly back together with Spackle.  
  
Artemis was suffering what many of we more well-adjusted adolescents call a 'brown-out.' Similar to a sugar low, post-test depression, Ordinary Feelings of Paranoia and Angst, or, in females of the species, 'that time of the month.'   
  
"I'm an only child!" he kept repeating at regular intervals. Mulch, sitting at the foot of the couch, was timing him. "Twenty seconds," the dwarf announced.  
  
"I'm an only child!"  
  
"What do you think happened to him?" Juliet asked in hushed tones. Butler, taking Artemis's blood pressure, shook his head tensely. "No idea."  
  
"Should I go fetch the Mr. and Mrs.?"  
  
"Not just yet." Butler unwound the bandage from Artemis's upper arm. "Check the first-aid kid for a sedative."  
  
Juliet ruffled through the box. "Nope, none. Ooh, gum." She popped it into her mouth.  
  
"Twenty seconds," Mulch put in with doomsday cheer.  
  
"I'm an only child!" Artemis cried pleadingly. He sat bolt upright and started shaking. His eyes -- oh, you already know what color his eyes are. Deep, cool, sapphire blue. But I'll say it again.  
  
His deep blue eyes were wide and unfocused. He grabbed Butler's arm so hard that the manservant actually felt it.   
  
"Don't let them have it."  
  
"Who, Artemis? Have what?" Juliet wondered, her eyes wide as a stricken lamb. "Twenty seconds," Mulch offered, looking at Artemis hopefully.  
  
"I..." Artemis trailed off. All his life, he had been the center of attention. Even when both his parents were incapacitated, he had never had to think of anyone else. He'd never had to look after someone younger. Now, he thought for the first time of giving up his place. Sole heir of the Fowls, the only son, the one in whom all his parent's hopes for the future were going to be realized, their... well, their baby. And as much as he resented it, the thought of stepping aside in favor of some newcomer -- a perfect stranger -- was making him feel a bit sick....  
  
"Better go get those sedatives, big man," Mulch remarked phlegmatically as he reset his stopwatch.  
  
______________________  
Later that Saturday Morning  
Howler's Peak  
______________________  
  
Elegant fingers rattled rapidly as Opal Koboi posted the chapter. Her vivid green eyes narrowed in fury as the browser popped up a message, "Site overloaded. Please come back later."  
  
"D'Arvit!" she spat, clencing her small fists in fury, sharp little nails digging into her palms. With mild interest, she noticed that she was making herself bleed...  
  
"Opal, do you have a minute?"  
  
She started in surprise, automatically shielding her computer with her body. "Oh, it's you. Back twice in one morning?"   
  
"It's important. I need a contact, Koboi, and quickly. A human with a bit of money, who wants to make more. And... there's no way to put this politely. Someone who's on the gray side of legal."  
  
"Basically, you want a rich crook?" Opal summarized.  
  
"Eh... more refined."  
  
"A politician? An oil investor?"  
  
"Someone like your French contact, Luc Carrere. Do you have any more like him? Preferably someone more intelligent than a bowl of chopped celery?"  
  
"Oh, that's harsh." Opal's eyes sparked with amusement. "How did you find out about him?" Knowing better than to expect an answer, she lapsed into thought. Suddenly it came to her... like a thunderbolt from the blue, but less painful. It was like a warm summer breeze flowing into the cold corners of her mind and making them a little less uncomfortable. Respect, revenge, power, freedom, reviews... name one name, and they were all within her reach.  
  
The food slot was unlocked, and a pad of paper and a pencil skidded across the floor. She wrote one name on it. Then she had a thought, and wrote down the title of a story and an Internet address. She handed it back through with a wicked grin. "Oh, Takaban? If you want to thank me, read the story. All the way through. And leave me a nice, long, well-thought-out review."  
  
______________________  
Medical Ward  
______________________  
  
Holly slowed down as she reached the door of the room. Hospitals made her uneasy. The disinfectant smell, the haggard-looking students, the drip stands and wheelchairs left ominously against the walls, the funny-colored paint job -- this was not her kind of environment at all. She didn't like the way her magic itched in response to the pain of others. Give her a cool - but not cold - night under the stars in the remotest parts of Ireland, breathlessly tracking a stray troll across the endless fields... none of this antiseptic stuff.  
  
Her fingers closed around the handle of the door, flexed once, and pulled it open. Instantly she was assaulted by a thick wall of awful smoke. With a gasp, she leaped backward into the sterile air of the hallway, suddenly grateful for the disinfectant she'd resented a few seconds earlier.  
  
"Come on in, Captain, and meet Foxy," Root called from the foul smog.   
  
(With smooth efficiency, a crack team of janitors assembled a high-power fan in the hallway and started dispersing the smoke. A short girl with auburn-brown hair wandered by, spritzing something from a spray bottle into the air. "Yay.")  
  
Holly entered the hospital room, suddenly feeling nervous. "Are you sure you should be smoking, Root?" she asked lightly, shutting the door behind her.  
  
"The kid's wearing an oxygen mask. He can't complain." Root waved a dismissive hand, flecking small bits of ash into the air.  
  
A snort from the hospital bed was his reply. Steeling herself, Holly looked at the patient.   
  
It wasn't at all like she expected. Sitting straight with his back against the wall, he looked like a perfectly normal person, who had been pounced on by a swarm of vengeful medics and trussed up with oxygen masks and IV lines. The IVs carried a glowing blue liquid -- antiseptic saturated with the Gift, a true blessing to doctors who were tired of using raw magic to heal a patient. He looked fine. Good, even, with electricity in his eyes despite the unflattering hospital light.  
  
Nothing like her father, who had spent his last days in a hospital like this. The Gift can't save everybody.   
  
Holly breathed a sigh of relief and extended her hand. "Hello. I'm Captain Short of the LEP."  
  
He nodded back and wrote something on a dry erase board. Holly read the Japanese words with concentration... Basic Gnommish should be adapted as a universal language. "Your name is Kitsune? That means fox, doesn't it?"  
  
He nodded, erased, and wrote some more kanji. Holly frowned. "Can't you write in English, or Gaelic?"  
  
The person now established as Kitsune gave her a Look with his yellow-green eyes. He took the board back, then wrote in both English and Gaelic, "NO."  
  
Root looked on in amusement as Holly glared at him. "Why not?"  
  
In Japanese: "Mostly, because I don't feel like it." Then there was an emoticon -- ":P"  
  
"D'Arvit," Holly said under her breath, barely moving her lips. Somehow, Kitsune heard that. He wrote something on the board and showed it to her. It was something untranslatable.  
  
Root broke up the impending disaster by doubling over with laughter and accidentally dropping his cigar on the bedsheets. Kitsune grabbed it, dropped it in his nearby glass of water, and pulled off his oxygen mask in relief. "Nice to meet you, too, Captain."  
  
It looked like they were off to a good start.  
  
_______________________  
Saturday Afternoon  
Unknown Location  
________________________  
  
"A fiery death, straight from hell," the dwarf babbled, clutching the blue plastic packet to his chest. "I could have died yesterday back there. Burned away to a pile of ash."  
  
"Look, Marcus, you had the ivory, okay? You didn't die. Now try not to look like a total loser when I do this report." The elf rolled her blue eyes scathingly as she lounged in the lobby of the headquarters. Pulling out a small mirror, she shook out her bright blonde curls.  
  
"You're not listening!"  
  
"I can't hear you, Marcus. I'm not listening." She twirled a strand of golden hair around her finger and stared into the mirror."What do you think -- do I look okay? I want to impress our boss."  
  
"You look fine. You always look fine." The dwarf stroked his gingery beard fretfully. The living hairs preened beneath his touch.  
  
"Why, thank you, Marcus."  
  
"I thought you weren't listening!"  
  
She didn't have an answer to that, so she returned to making herself look halfway decent. "Meet me outside his office, okay? I have to go to the powder room."   
  
"Yeah, yeah."   
  
"The office" was bare, sparse and painfully clean, with no real furniture. In the middle of the floor knelt a figure, wearing arctic camouflage with spots that were actually paler than his skin. His black-feathered wings occasionally rustled with movement. He was using a fantastically modern laptop computer that would have brought envious drools to the mouths of human computer nuts everywhere, if they had been with him at that moment. His infinitely dark eyes were frozen wide in morbid fascination.  
  
"The little psychopath," he breathed. "How am I going to review this?"  
  
He didn't seem to notice the two in the doorway, but with a shake of her blonde curls, the female tripped in confidently. "Good morning, sir," she said in a sort of sultry chirp. Peering over his shoulder, her soft blue eyes strained out of their perfectly shadowed sockets. "Who under the Earth is 'Evilly_Brilliant_Femme_Fatale?' And -- and -- those characters wouldn't do that!!"  
  
"In the minds of fans, nothing is impossible," Takaban stated, slamming the laptop shut. "In Koboi's mind... What's your report, Frond?"  
  
Lili Frond, bimbo face of the LEP, descendant of the famed elfin king, sighed and jerked a commanding thumb at the dwarf in the corner. "Marcus, get in here. It's your report, too."  
  
Grousing under his breath, he stomped into the office and assumed a sulky pose next to her. Lili examined a fingernail with biting scorn as her partner snuffled loudly. "Well, sir, I think we did a good job. We scanned the state of Oklahoma and paid off a couple of eight-year-olds with that Mud Money you gave us." Pouting kittenishly, she gestured at Marcus to take over.  
  
"Visited an oral surgeon and got some old wisdom teeth from his biowaste cans," the dwarf sighed, "Tried to get at some old dead Mud Man they were burying but couldn't do it in time, and his teeth were probably all rotten anyway. Stopped at a drugstore because Lili wanted to see their eyeshadow. Got thrown out of drugstore 'cuz Lili tried to buy two hundred bucks worth of makeup and an R-rated chick flick, on a third-party charge card, and they thought she was six years old."  
  
"I have the figure of a full-grown woman," Lili Frond spat venomously, eying her pronounced curves with an appraising powder-blue eye. "That pimply old clerk was stone blind."  
  
"He couldn't see your figure," Marcus shot back. "All he could see was your chin! I told you, you're too short to be buying R-rated DVDs from Mud People!"  
  
"What? You never said any such thing. Besides, I'm not SHORT! I'm one of the tallest elves in Haven! It's the innocence in my eyes that makes me look young!"  
  
"Innocence!? Don't make me laugh!"  
  
If you have ever lived with any kind of fowl -- Artemis and Co. don't count -- you know that when they become scared, annoyed or enraged, they puff up their feathers to make themselves seem larger and more threatening. (Or, in the case of the author's little sister's parakeet, like a small, startled feather duster -- but a really, really threatening little feather duster.) Size is intimidating. A small person like Holly Short could wipe you out with one casual zap of a Neutrino 2000, but you'd rather take her on in a fight than a big person like Butler.   
  
Takaban wasn't quite a parakeet. Although light-boned, he was as tall as a young man. When he suddenly flared his huge wingspan open like a small plane about to take off, the effect in the small office was paralyzing. Lili squeaked and fell backwards into Marcus. With a grunt, he pushed her off and stared.  
  
"What else happened?" Takaban asked in his usual half-depressed tone. With a swift rustle, he folded his wings to his back and looked just as thin and Gothic as before.  
  
"Um, there was a, there was um," Lili babbled intelligently, "There was a, uh, a Mud Boy. Man. Mud Teenager. Ish. But maybe he wasn't. Um, but don't worry, I killed him. Or, at least, he's dead now. I think. Maybe. Marcus?"  
  
"What are you asking me for? I was unconscious! Burnt half to death!" the dwarf squawked, shuddering. He sunk slowly to the floor, both from shock at Takaban's display and from his pyrophobic memories. A few snatches of groans "I felt the clutches of hell" and "A fiery grave" were just audible from his huddled body.  
  
Takaban gave him a brief look and fixed a hawklike gaze on Lili. "I expect you to tell me everything."  
___________________________  
Holly's Apartment  
Obligatory Bit with Bob in It  
____________________________  
  
Bob the Atlantean Bogglefish had come up with a Revolutionary New Escape Plan. He decided to tunnel through the bottom of the tank. A lot of gravel was in the way ("Good Lord! What IS this stuff?!") which he pushed away with his snout in a stunning display of action.   
  
Sadly, he discovered the Bottom of the Tank. It made him very sad and depressed for a record of .0003 seconds, before he remembered that he didn't know how to be sad and depressed. It was all too much for a fish to handle. He felt very ashamed, and realized that he had to run away, change his name, and grow a moustache.   
  
For an amazing total of .056 seconds, fiercely crossing his eyes and severely straining his attention span, he grew a moustache.  
  
For some strange reason, it didn't work very well.  
  
___________________________  
Fowl Manor  
___________________________  
  
Angeline was attempting to contact every Butler, every relative of Butler, every relative of a relative of a Butler, and every seeing-eye emu owned by a Butler that she could get her hands on. Juliet's diary had convinced her that she was not quite ready for a bodyguarding job yet. The best thing for that particular young lady was several years in the most uptight college in the world. St. Bartleby's University for Young Ladies. (Although, deep down inside her soul, Angeline sympathized completely with Juliet.) Now, the lady of the house flung herself into the task of finding a suitable escort for the future Fowl child.  
  
The Butler family was quite large, but most of its members were unshakably occupied. Granny Sue Butler of Louisiana was unemployed, but she spent all her time in her rocking chair on her decaying porch, firing rounds off her shotgun at every passing stranger. Sunshine Rainbow Butler always wore impractically long hippie-style skirts, flower-child blouses, and 1960's makeup. This was all the more disturbing since Sunshine Rainbow was a thirty-nine-year-old man, stood six and a half feet tall, and was a major ringleader in American crime. Most of the others were good, upstanding crime lords, bodyguards, mercenaries and other wholesome things, but they were all booked for life.  
  
Artemis Fowl Senior was ruffling through some of his files, occasionally remembering a name or two to help her along. "What about their cousin, that nice young man we had in once to babysit, when Artemis was five?"  
  
"Dear, he was never quite right in the head. He thought Artemis was twins."  
  
"Well, what if we pay for his medication?"  
  
"Darling, don't you remember? When we got home, he was in tears because a giant flaming panda bear had carried off Artemis's identical brother."  
  
Downstairs, the Artemis in question was being nursed back to health with baking soda. Baking soda, Juliet insisted, was the miracle cure for almost anything. Mulch Diggums reluctantly admitted that it did do wonders for gas cramps. Butler was ransacking the manor for some kind of sedative. Meanwhile, it was up to Juliet and Mulch to bring the shell-shocked Artemis back to health.  
  
"Are you sure about this, hon?" Mulch asked as he stirred baking soda into the fifth glass of lukewarm milk.  
  
Juliet didn't look at him. They had put aside their feud to administer to their nobly fallen master, who was clutching at pillows and making desperate whimpering noises to himself. He had all the symptoms of a shell-shocked soldier. Grabbing him in a headlock, Juliet forced some more milk and baking soda down his throat, ignoring his frantic struggles. "There, look, see? He's getting better already." She patted Artemis's heaving shoulder with the tender care of a big sister.  
  
"Calmed him down, all right. Look, he's as limp as a wet dishrag. Turning a nice greenish color, too," Mulch observed with interest.  
  
"Oh." Juliet grabbed Artemis's chin and looked. He did look a bit sickly. "Uh... gee."  
  
"Bit too much baking soda, do you think?" Mulch gnawed the top off a carrot he had gotten somewhere. "He looks a bit like a half-drowned sprite."  
  
"Oh, gosh, he isn't breathing!" Juliet panicked. She shook the teenager's limp body frantically. "Breathe, Artemis, breathe!"  
  
"Give 'im more baking soda!" Mulch shouted, clambering onto the couch and helpfully pouring the box onto Artemis's head.  
  
"No! He needs to wash it down! Hand me a glass of milk!"  
  
Helpfully, Mulch poured the milk over Artemis's head. "Here, give him this carrot! My old auntie always said carrots were good for gas cramps!" He pulled the masticated vegetable out of his mouth and tried to fit it in between Artemis's teeth. "Here ya go, buddy, munch on this and you'll be all un-bloated in no time!"  
  
"Get away, you mud-headed moron! He doesn't have gas cramps! We have to get him to breathe!" Juliet swatted him off the bed with a powerful backhand, and Mulch fell to the floor with a metallic clang, his feet sticking comically into the air. Huffily, he took his rejected carrot and crawled under the couch to sulk. The Butler instinct came to the rescue as Juliet cleared all airways, thumped her patient's chest a few times, and began CPR.  
  
An important fact: Parents have very bad timing. You must have noticed; you'll be watching a perfectly good movie, and your parents will come in at the most violent part in it, and demand that you turn that junk off. At the moment when you and a friend are having the most possible fun, parents arrive to pick you up - and demand that you leave at once. You'll be in the middle of an important email, and parents will stride in and demand that you get offline so they can use the phone. Good intentions aside, it's a scientific fact that parents have the worst timing possible.  
  
So, according to this universal law, Angeline Fowl HAD to enter the room just as Juliet was administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.   
  
__________________________________________________  
Good? Bad? Ugly? Less is more? More is less? Constructive criticism? Frenzied ramblings? Karaoke renditions of "Action Fairy?" More praises of Bob? (He's getting a swollen head. Now his eyes are almost in proportion to the rest of his body.) You know where to put them. Everything is accepted with thanks. I accept unsigned reviews, too, just so you know.  
  
Caspian Nyghtvision 


	7. This is My Shelter

Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files  
By Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
Chapter Seven: This is My Shelter  
  
Disclaimer: Ha. Ha. Ha...  
(I've decided to ditch adding the times... got confusing... they'll show up when it's important, but it'll just be locations for the scene changes...)  
  
"You fight about money, bout me and my brother   
And this I come home to, this is my shelter   
It ain't easy growin up in World War III   
Never knowin what love could be, you'll see   
I don't want love to destroy me like it has done  
my family..."  
"Family Portrait," -- Pink   
  
--------------------------  
Ma Kelp's Doman  
Half an Hour after We Last Left Off  
Saturday  
-------------------------  
  
"You call THAT looking after your brother?!"  
  
Trouble winced. "Ma, I--"  
  
"Don't MA me! You left my little boy OUT on the street, in the COLD--"  
  
"Mom, it's the middle of summer..."  
  
THWAP. Trouble didn't even waste time dodging, just stood there, loose-shouldered with a slightly hangdog look, as he got his ears cuffed by an irate Ma Kelp. "Don't interrupt me, you insolent little! Now sit down and eat this, I'm not done talking with you yet!" Ma Kelp slammed a piece of pie down on the table so hard that the dishes in the cabinets rattled. Then she threw a tin spoon at him, apparently to eat the pie with, but it was thrown hard enough to kill a small troll.   
  
"Mom, I don't want pie. I have to go to back to work," Trouble said patiently, catching the spoon inches away from embedding itself in his skull.  
  
"No back talk, growing boys need their pie! Just look at you, ever since you went to that old Academy, you've been nothing but muscle and bone. You know as well as I do, girls don't look twice at a scrawny -- GRUB, GET DOWN HERE -- go on, don't let it get cold -- I'M NOT DONE WITH YOU BOYS YET--"  
  
With a strangled noise that could almost have been a sob, Trouble let his head fall to the table. Unfortunately, it fell onto the pie. So much for being a grownup. How dignified does a captain look with pie up his nose?  
  
He wondered if it was possible to kill oneself with a tin spoon.  
  
________________________  
Fowl Manor  
________________________  
  
Artemis Fowl Senior stumped heavily downstairs. "Angeline?" he called wearily. "Angeline, can I talk to you?"  
  
She glided in from the living room and slipped her hands into his. "What's going on, dear? Is it about the baby?"  
  
"No. It... it's about my job."  
  
Her eyes narrowed, Angeline gave him a look. "You don't really have a job, Artemis."  
  
"That's it, Angeline... I've just recieved an offer. I think it would be worthwhile to look into it."  
  
Angeline stared for a minute into his eyes, which I do not have to remind you are the same very deep blue as his son's. She pulled away. "It's illegal, isn't it?"  
  
"Well..."  
  
"Don't 'well' me, Artemis, I know you! You had that same look in your eyes that day eighteen years ago, when you were telling me that the Interpol conspiracy was just a-- Arty, dear," she said, her voice suddenly dropping to a false cheerfulness, "Could you give your father and I a minute?"  
  
Artemis the Second -- it got so hard to keep them straight sometimes -- had just entered the huge landing, looking paler than ever. He slowly raised just one eyebrow and took his own sweet time leaving the room again. The large, ornately carved door shut behind him with a sort of muffled thud -- showing that he was affronted and resentful, but was not going to go around banging perfectly good doors like some high-schooler raised in a barn, when the cold shoulder was more suited to his dignity. It took a lot of practice to read such a statement into a simple thud of a door, but Angeline was his mother, after all.  
  
"We need the money," Artemis the First stated as soon as their son was definitely out of earshot.   
  
"No, we don't," Artemis the Second said from his office, watching them from the video monitor. His parents weren't the only ones who put button cameras where they didn't belong.  
  
"It's what's best for the family."  
  
Artemis II snorted. "And who was in charge when you were gone?" he asked the screen. "The family's in perfectly good hands. Go retire."  
  
"I want to retire, Angeline. This could be it. The big chance."  
  
"You're always talking about big chances! The Fowl Star was a big chance! I let you do that, and look what happened!"   
  
Artemis switched the sound off and settled into his Thinking Pose, like Count Dracula contemplating a kidnapping. Despite himself, he wondered what his father was planning. Thinking about it brought his mind away from things that were currently giving him several separate headaches.  
  
Like the baby that would appear in the house in six months, or that he really needed to pay Mulch, or the fact that the walls of his room had been painted a disgusting shade of beige, or that the LEP was completely ignoring him. That last bit had nothing to do with anything, but it just popped into his mind. Would it kill them to send him an e-mail? What would it take, two minutes of their precious fairy time?   
  
Enough of that. He needed a plan to discover his father's plan.  
  
Artemis Senior kept all of his files on his laptop, despite Angeline's protests that it was unsafe. The elder Artemis shrugged it off. His computer was safer than an Atlantean Mummer Clam in its shell, although he had no idea that the creature existed. The tiny, vulnerable body of the Atlantean Mummer Clam lurks within granite-strong walls of its incredibly tough shell, locked together by muscles stronger than iron.  
  
The easiest way to find out what the senior Fowl was up to was to open up that laptop. Not that it was an easy task. Like the Mummer Clam in its smug fortress, a Fowl computer simply oozed self-satisfied security from every microchip. No person on Earth could hack their way past its first series of firewalls, no matter how sophisticated their equipment. In the same way, a Mummer Clam's shell will not break under chisels, hydraulic presses or dynamite. Force means nothing to the computer or the clam.   
  
However, Artemis the Second was never one for force. In his quest for knowledge of the People, he had also studied the creatures that lurked underground and undersea with them, undiscovered by human eyes. For millenia, the People of Atlantis had eaten the body of the Mummer Clam, without once breaking its shell. Their method was incredibly simple.  
  
Simply drop a clam -- any clam -- in hot water, and within a few minutes it will open up like a flower blossoming. Their hard shells do them no good when the heat relaxes their muscles and eases them open.  
  
So instead of wasting his time with tedious hours of fruitless hacking, or simply smashing the computer with a sledgehammer like a more healthy teen would have done, Artemis realized that opening it up required a subtle touch.   
  
Not hot water, of course.  
  
That would have just been silly.  
  
----------------------------  
Medical Ward  
Haven  
----------------------------  
  
Kitsune sighed and looked around the bleak room with calculating eyes. He'd been lying there, healing, for long enough. He felt better than ever, and tried to tell this to the harried-looking warlock who kept dashing in, peering at his chart, and slapping a few blue sparks here and there like a carpenter Spackling a sheet of plywood. "Could you please let me go, Sensei? I'm fine, I swear, I'm perfectly healed."  
  
The warlock paused and gave him a condescending sneer. "Are you a doctor?"  
  
"No, but--"  
  
"Do you have medical qualifications?"  
  
"Well--"  
  
"Are you trained in any of the basics of first aid?"  
  
"Not exactly, no--"  
  
"Do you have any idea what this is?" The warlock held up an indescribable object.  
  
Kitsune raised his eyebrows. "A... baboon wrench ?" he tried.  
  
Without warning, the warlock cracked him on the kneecap with the hefty piece of metal. For a short person, he packed a hell of a punch.  
  
"Graah!" Kitsune bolted forward, one hand protectively over his knee. In one fluid, graceful movement, he snatched the object from the warlock's small hand, threw it as hard as he could, and accidentally collapsed the bed.  
  
"Aaahh... itai... pain..." A strained voice said several creative, exotic phrases in a foreign language from within the collapsed pile of steel rods, thin sheets and blankets. They died away into a suffering moan.  
  
The warlock looked on impassively. He produced Kitsune's chart and wrote on it, reading aloud as he went. "Reflexes -- good. Health -- improving. Patient experiencing discomfort. Not yet due for release."  
  
"I was fine until you came in here, you --" Kitsune spat several curses before groaning again.  
  
"Indeed." The medic added a few more words to the clipboard. "Patient experiencing delusions. Medications reccomended. Strong medications."  
  
A few metal rods clanged to the floor as Kitsune tossed them aside. He growled as he struggled upright. "Omae wa korosu."  
  
"I don't think you'll be killing anybody, with these vital signs!" the medic bellowed, twisting some dials. "You're going on a triple dosage of morphine!"  
  
"I am not going on anything!" Kitsune bolted for the door, but remembered he was wearing hospital-issue clothes. Mainly, a small piece of thin tissue paper. He shot back to the ruins of the bed, but the warlock cornered him with a huge syringe. Kitsune's yellow eyes widened. Desperate means call for desperate measures...  
  
----------------------------  
Library of Archives, LEP Headquarters  
Conference Room.  
----------------------------  
  
A flurry of papers whirled and fluttered about the room like enormous snowflakes, or white birds trying to land.  
  
Holly sustained herself with some grapes she had grabbed from the cafeteria. She watched with a jaundiced eye as Foaly flipped frantically through a stack of printouts, scattering the ones he didn't want to the four winds. Which didn't exist, Haven being underground. The only real wind that circulated was the hot air blown around by self-important officials and certain technicians.  
  
"I told him! I told him the database was more efficient than this --" Foaly held up a piece of paper with great disgust -- "Primitive filing system."  
  
"You never said that," Root said with remarkable placidness. Namely, his face was only slightly less red than your average fire hydrant, and he hadn't actually bitten anyone's head off. Yet.  
  
"Well, I inferred it." Foaly flung a chunk of papers and it hit Holly in the face. With remarkable placidness, Holly refrained from shooting him. She popped another grape into her mouth and began flicking through the papers she had caught.  
  
"Poking around some dusty old archives like a librarian. Hah! Found it." Foaly stuck his knuckle into his mouth. "Another paper cut. Does that count as worker's comp?"  
  
"The only compensation you're getting is continued employment."  
  
"Julius, that's hardly fair. Nobody else can do what I do. I've made sure of that." Foaly gazed at the file in his hands like it was a horribly repulsive insect. "Here."  
  
Root squinted at it. "Five Hundred Easy Recipes For Bologna?"  
  
"Er... I meant this one."  
  
"You read it, Holly." Root held out the file.  
  
She looked up from what she was reading with a glazed look. Shaking her head briskly, she refocused her eyes and dropped her papers on the floor. "Uh... okay."  
  
Holly opened the folder to reveal several sheets of yellowed paper preserved in clear plastic. "These haven't been updated in decades," she said, scandalized.   
  
"Bureaucrats didn't think it was important," Foaly shrugged expressively, an interesting sight in a centaur.   
  
Holly read aloud. "Summary of the Atlantis Convention.  
  
"It has come to our attention as a Council that all faeries are created equal, yet many continue to have an unfair advantage over each other. To this end, we hereby ban and condemn all weaponry, substances and chemicals that give one faerie an unnatural or unfair advantage over an equal creature. Hereinafter, the possession, trade and use of all of the following substances are morally and legally wrong, and the perpetrator will become a criminal in the eyes of the Council, punishable as we see fit.  
  
Softnose lasers; these weapons being cruel, crude and generally inhumane;  
Truth serums and drugs; these substances being dishonorable for obvious reasons; henceforth approved only for use among certain governmental officials;  
Mind-altering drugs and substances; these drugs put the user and abuser at risk, a danger to themselves and others;  
Likewise, alcohol; not only does it drain the Gift, but drunkenness puts others in danger;  
Pop-up ads; for being frustrating, evil and just plain annoying;  
Human ivory; the methods for obtaining it from humans are dishonorable and unfair; the uses of it even more so. It being worse than alcohol, for deliberately impairing the abilities of others."  
  
Holly looked up and scowled. "This doesn't tell us anything we don't already know."  
  
"I liked the bit about the pop-up ads, though," Foaly said, leaning over her shoulder.   
  
"Yes, but it's useless." Holly grabbed at a piece of paper. "Hmn, here's that thing about that sprite that got bit, and died."  
  
Foaly peered over her shoulder. "Oh, look, he was related to Chix! Well, no great loss, right?" He whinnied.  
  
"Chix isn't that bad." Holly felt she should point this out, in the name of honor.  
  
Root almost choked on his unlit cigar. (He wasn't allowed to smoke in the archives, so he just chewed on them raw.) "He isn't?"  
  
"Okay, okay...he is..."  
  
"So what happened to his relative?"  
  
"Savage toddler, doomed sprite. Before the Atlantis Convention, the Tooth Fairy myth was greatly supported by both us and the Mud People," Foaly said long-sufferingly. "This poor flyboy figured he'd pick up some teeth cheap. Unfortunately, the kid wasn't the right age, and he ended up getting nipped in the wing. Apparently something in the kid's milk teeth knocked out his Gift, so he ended up dying there. Took some covering up, I can assure you. Freak accident. Won't happen again."  
  
Root gave him a long look.   
  
"Question." Holly almost raised her hand before remembering that she wasn't in the Academy anymore. "If we go up against whoever this is, how do we prevent it from happening to us? How do the healers help our wounded if ivory works on us like alcohol?"  
  
Foaly held up a piece of paper. "I think I have an idea..."  
  
"D'Arvit," Root said dryly.  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Nothing. It's just that your last brilliant idea put Haven through a blackout for five and a half hours."  
  
"Look, do you want to hear it or not?"  
  
"Fine, fine... tell us."  
  
----------------------------  
Netherworld Flamingo  
----------------------------  
  
Caspian of the Netherworld Flamingo sighed happily as she polished a glass to squeaky-clean perfection. She grabbed a spray bottle from under the bar and squirted it around randomly, then rubbed most of the surfaces dry. Early evening business was slow, so she liked to clean up while waiting for the after-work rush and enjoy the conversations.  
  
Satisfied that the bar was spotless enough to eat off of (she'd actually done it a few times, for the sheer heck of it) Caspian turned back to the patrons. Like her, they were all young students who enjoyed getting together for long chats of randomness.   
  
One elf was carrying on an animated conversation with an Atlantean Bogglefish, who boggled back from its spacious tank. "Tell me, what do you think of the Deepwater scandal? Should Scrimshaw run for office again?"  
  
Boggle, bob, blink, bubble.  
  
"I think so, too. Caspian! Your fish should be in politics!"  
  
A parrot shrilled by, scattering green and pink feathers like hayseed. "My karma ran over your dogma! My karma ran over your--" With a splat, it flew into a wheel of cheese suspended from the rafters.   
  
Despite the parrot, a few diehard anime buffs were vividly discussing the "dubs vs. subs" argument, with curses in three different languages (Gnommish, Fan-Mutilated Japanese and Internet Slang) and throwing of mugs and silverware added for colorful effect. "The English adaptation of Sailor Moon is a classic example of Western Ethnocentrism thoughtlessly imposed on pure, nonlinear art!"  
  
"Give it a rest, bakatari kinpatsu!" ("Is that right?" one asked. A sprite pulled out a dictionary, and a splinter argument broke out.) "IMHO, Sailor Moon gained from the dub, because it spread to a wider audience!"  
  
"Sailor Moon is mainstream. Let's talk about Fruits Basket, or Samurai X, or Superman Locke," a lone pixie shouted, but was drowned out by the Great Gundam Wing Argument, which started when the show began and will never be resolved.  
  
Caspian considered jumping in, screaming that Ronin Warriors was the best ("Dark Warlords rule!") but knew that nobody would understand her; the anime that had gotten her into fanfiction was far too obscure for the mainstream people, yet too mainstream for the purists. Besides, never meddle in the affairs of anime fans. They are truly dangerous, especially when arguing.  
  
The karaoke was closed until the after-work rush hour, but there was always a dart board to entertain the patrons. There was another huge argument as several young People attempted to storm the dart board and paste over it with pictures of people they hated. Characters from human books, movies and TV shows appeared, as well as the adorable blonde face of Lili Frond (from the non-mainstream pixie) and a horrible picture of Vice Corporal Fallacy. Then, with cackles of unholy glee, the students grabbed darts, knives, forks, chopsticks, swords, plastic sporks, spears, pikes, porcupine quills, toothpicks and Really Sharp Pencils. The air was thick with sharp pointy objects as the dartboard was skewered from all directions. With an anguished cry, a young elf leapt forward to save the photograph of a beloved actor, but was pushed back by a wall of participants.  
  
Off to the side and away from it all, a burnt-out-looking warlock was fiddling listlessly with a glass of ice water, her pale green eyes rimmed with dark shadows. She looked so exhausted that if Artemis Fowl himself had suddenly appeared in front of her and stripped to "Dirrty Dwarf," she probably wouldn't have even looked up.  
  
"Hey, Silver," Caspian called out. "What's wrong?"  
  
The intern raised her head wearily. "Burned out," she rasped, rubbing her forehead, where a killer migraine was waiting in the wings. "Anyone know when the next full moon is?"  
  
Flipping her dishrag over her shoulder with a jaunty snap, Caspian sauntered over to Janisha's spot. "You don't really need a full moon, just plant an acorn and you'll be fine," the bartender reminded her, grabbing the now-empty glass and refilling it with water. "You medic types are such martyrs."  
  
Janisha scoffed faintly. "I like to stick with tradition. Mess around with the Book and you'll end up sorry."  
  
Caspian dropped an ice cube in Janisha's glass. "The next full moon is tomorrow night, as luck would have it. Sunday." She spun away to attend to the rest of the bar. Halfway to the other side of the bar, she tripped, grabbed at the glass rack overhead, and accidentally pulled some of the glasses down. They fell to the floor with her, shattering on impact.  
  
"D'Arvit. I just cleaned all those," Caspian griped from her ungraceful position on the floor.  
  
----------------------------------  
Fowl Manor  
----------------------------------  
Artemis was doing something unusual for him. He was debating moral ethics.  
  
He stared thoughtfully at the small plastic sheet in his hand. It looked like a sheet of thick, clear stickers.   
  
Was he really curious enough to put a sticker camera in his parent's bedroom?  
  
Of course, its attention would be focused on the keyboard of his father's computer. He wouldn't technically be invading anyone's privacy -- only the computer's. Still, it just didn't seem right. He put the sticker cameras back in his safe and thought for a while.  
  
Butler appeared in the doorway. "Everything all right?"  
  
"Fine, yes. Butler, go see what Mother's doing, will you?"  
  
"She's reading in the library." The manservant's eyes narrowed.   
  
"Where's Father?"  
  
"In his room, working."  
  
Artemis reached into the safe for a small black case in the back of it. "And Juliet?"  
  
"Starting lunch in the kitchen."  
  
Artemis pulled a rolled-up poster out of the safe and held it between his fingers like it was a long-dead squirrel. "Give this to her, will you?"  
  
Butler gave him a long, deeply suspicious look, but took the poster and left the room.  
  
In the spacious, expensively furnished kitchen, Juliet was setting a pot of water on the stove. Butler handed her the poster. She took it, puzzled, and unrolled it. She staggered backwards against the cabinet, smashing several pieces of priceless china, and began to keen loudly and shrilly with a glazed look in her eyes as she clutched it with both hands.  
  
"Julie?" Butler, nervous, shook her shoulder. She blinked, dazed, tearing her gaze away from the poster. "Where did you get this?" she asked in a reverent monotone. Without waiting for an answer, she went on to explain the incredible rarity of a WrestleMania 2000 group poster and et cetera et cetera et cetera, in one high-pitched squealing breath.   
  
The two older Fowls rushed downstairs to investigate Juliet's screams. Artemis Senior carried a handgun, Angeline carried a small pewter statue of a stalking weasel. Just behind their backs, Artemis Junior slipped into their bedroom with a small device clasped firmly into his hand. He slid the black-market piece of fairy technology into his father's floppy-disk drive, then went downstairs to act suprised at Juliet's fit.   
  
-------------------------------------  
Rant and Very Important Message  
------------------------------------  
I hope to the Patron Saint of Fanfiction that I'm not making Foaly sound gay... Well, Eoin Colfer started it, with all the whinnying. Actually, a gay Foaly might add to the general insanity of the story... nah... it'll be too much like daytime television... parody material? No, too much on my hands. (rambles on semi-coherently)  
  
Now look what you've done to me. Anyway, the whole point of this Rant was this Message:  
  
Author Note: This is a very important sentence.  
  
THERE WILL BE NO PAIR-OFFS.  
  
No Holly-Artemis. No Holly-Trouble. No Artemis-Juliet. No Root-Holly.  
  
No Artemis-Trouble, Holly-Grub, Juliet-Root, Artemis-Butler, Holly-Juliet, Juliet-Trouble, Trouble-Root, Artemis-Mulch. No Artemis-Holly-Butler, no Mulch-Artemis-Juliet-Root. And my original characters aren't going to be pairing off either. Not in this fic, anyway.  
  
There is plenty of perfectly good romance out there for you to read, I leave that to the estimated 3249 gazillion romance writers in the fanfiction universe, who even as you read are hard at work. They come up with plenty of unique combinations which I am sure you will enjoy.   
  
Oh, yes... (runs back)Nyghtvision, Lady of Infinite Flamingos, has drawn again. The latest pic is of Grub Kelp. Interested? I'll pass it on if you want to see. 29 kbs. And while we're shamelessly self-advertising, I posted part one of my Gundam Wing fic and "Why did the Chicken Cross the Road? Tamora Pierce Style." Yay? Nay? Pfay? You tell me.   
  
PS Sorry to not cover everybody in each chapter. (i.e. Bob, Takaban) It's hard when I have at least six fronts to cover and all these little plotlines to tie... bear with me? 


	8. In Which Some Things Happen, And Some Th...

Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files  
By Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
Chapter Eight: In Which Some Things Happen, And Some Things Don't   
  
Brief Note: I have not yet read the Eternity Code, so it has no effect on this chapter. See general madness at end of chapter for details.  
  
RANDOM AMUSING BIRD OF THE WEEK: The Grackle. Expect at least one grackle in every scene.  
  
"There's an emptiness inside her  
and she'd do anything to fill it in  
and though it's red blood bleeding from her now  
it's more like cold blue ice in her heart.  
When all the colors come together to grey,  
And it breaks her heart."  
-- "Grey Street" by Dave Matthews Band  
  
-----------------------------  
Sunday Morning at Fowl Manor  
-----------------------------  
  
Artemis Fowl the Second was Storming. He stormed through the halls, almost stomping in his emotion. He stormed down the wide marble stairs, his face like a thundercloud. He stormed into the kitchen, where, judging by the loud clatters and multilingual curses, Butler was doing dishes.  
  
Artemis Stormed into the kitchen and stopped dead. Several things were very wrong with the scene he saw before him. The first very wrong thing was the sight of the big manservant sprawled out stunned on the floor, and Mulch Diggums cheerfully doing the dishes instead. The frilly pink apron around Mulch's waist was one thing wrong, and so was the lavender leopard-patterned bandanna tied around his head. Also, the music that Mulch was singing along with, loudly playing on Juliet's radio, was very wrong.   
  
It was the uncensored version of 'Action Fairy.'  
  
Artemis Stormed over to the sink and threw the radio in it. Mulch pulled his hands out just in time as a fascinating shower of sparks crackled across the surface of the water. "Hey! Wadja do that for?!"  
  
"That," Artemis said, with no words on Earth capable of describing his tone, "Was very inappropriate. So is that -- that -- and that. What did you do to Butler?"  
  
"Nothing, he did it to himself."  
  
Artemis paused and counted to ten in all the languages he could remember. "How?" he said finally, his voice colder than Mt Washington in January.   
  
"I don't know, all I did was come in here with my feather duster and my music, and he jerked back and hit his head upside the range."  
  
Artemis darted a wary look at the crackling ruins of the radio and the huge, violently colored bunch of grackle feathers, and could see why Butler had flinched.   
  
"I'm all right," Butler said suddenly, pulling himself together. "I must be getting soft or something. Is something wrong, Artemis?"  
  
Bereft of his radio, Mulch started singing again. Butler picked him up by the nape of the neck like an errant puppy, opened the door to the laundry chute, and put him in. There was a long drawn out "Wheee!" and a distant clang.  
  
Artemis tried to get back into the fine mood he had been in five minutes before, and failed. He just wasn't cut out for real temper tantrums. He took several angry breaths and ended in a resigned sigh. "It's about Father, Butler. I've found out what his new... plan is."  
  
With a restraint born of years of practice, Butler refrained from leaping up and down and squealing "What? What? Tell me tell me tell me!" Instead, he took a seat on a kitchen stool and motioned his young charge to do the same.  
  
Artemis grudgingly perched on the stool. Distracted momentarily, he picked up a strange looking black object and fingered it. It crumbled slightly under his touch, but otherwise seemed hard as a rock. What sort of mineral could it be? he wondered as he examined it more closely.   
  
"One of Juliet's biscuits," Butler told him gently, seeing Artemis's pained look of total confusion, and his futile attempt at masking it.  
  
"Ah." Artemis set it down gingerly and drummed his fingertips. "Father's working with the People," he burst out suddenly.  
  
Unfortunately, the meaningful silence between manservant and mastermind was broken by the arrival of Juliet.   
  
She burst into the kitchen, dragging Mulch behind her. Seeing the ruins of her radio in the dishwater, she screamed incoherently and started paddling the dwarf with every ounce of strength in her body. "I'll rip your lungs out through your eye sockets and use them as your own garrote, you--"  
  
"Come and see the violence inherent in the women!" Mulch squalled.  
  
"Oh, you think that's violence? You ain't seen nothing yet! I'll use your eyeballs as billiards! I'll make you gnaw off your own toes to use as... as... as..." Juliet hesitated as she tried to think of something torturous she could do with a dwarf toe. She couldn't really think of anything.   
  
"Garden implements?" Mulch suggested helpfully from his upside-down position.  
  
"Oh, very good, garden implements. And, and I'll saw off your--"  
  
"Help, help, I'm being repressed!"  
  
"Shut up! Bloody dwarf!"  
  
"Ooh, look at her repressing me! You see this, don't you? Come and see the violence, inherent in the women!"  
  
Butler quietly seperated the battling pair, escorted Mulch down the laundry chute again, rescued Juliet's radio without getting electrocuted, and sent them both on their respective ways. He rejoined Artemis at the stools and they shared a pained look.  
  
"I can't wait until I'm eighteen." Artemis spoke with rare heartfelt feeling.  
  
"I can't either."  
  
There was a silence while both of them regrouped.  
  
"Father's dealing with the People," Artemis announced dramatically. This time, they were allowed to relish a moment of great importance, plot-wise. In a marvelous display, Butler displayed all the emotions expected of him -- shock, astonishment, disbelief, consternation, pain, anxiety -- in a few masterful seconds. He looked a bit like a bogglefish with heartburn.  
  
"What are we going to do?" Butler asked quietly after a respectful span of proper silence.  
  
"Stop him," Artemis said firmly. "He has no idea what he's getting into."  
  
"Does he even know what he's dealing with?"  
  
"No. But knowing my father, he might find out. And... and..." Butler waited as Artemis fumbled. "The Lower Elements Police will not approve if they find out."  
  
"Ah." Butler cherished the thought for a moment -- Artemis the First pisses off Holly Short. Most bodyguards didn't have to deal with these things, he thought. No, for them it was just the occasional Mafia conspiracy or terrorist uprising or assassination attempt, that sort of thing. None of this four-foot-tall fairy-flygirl-in-your-face "I have the Gift and you don't, nyah!" stuff. Oh, for the good old days, when --  
  
"Butler, are you all right?"  
  
"Fine," he growled. "Let's get your father out of this."  
  
"My sentiments exactly." Artemis started laying out the battle plans. "As far as we know, all Father is doing at this point is transferring money from one of our bank accounts to this unknown person. When I ran a trace on their email address, it was linked to the Undernet -- the underground Internet," he reminded Butler. "Apparently he's just investing in some plan. It's implied that it's a gray area, morally, but you know us Fowls." Artemis seemed a bit bitter as he said this. "We never seem to mind the ethical bits."  
  
Awkwardly, Butler patted him on the shoulder. "Yes, well, let's see what you've got."  
  
-------------------------  
Sunday Evening  
Holly's Apartment  
-------------------------  
  
Holly lay on her couch and looked at the ceiling, pretending to be interested in it. It wasn't a very interesting ceiling, but she didn't want to offend it by staring at the wall, which was even worse.  
  
She was very tired. She had gotten some sleep, but it wasn't nearly enough. All she had the energy to do was stagger home early that morning, hack her way into her apartment, and collapse. She had woken up, briefly, to feed Bob. He was very surprised to see her. In a rare display of intelligence, he only bonked into the walls three times before he discovered they existed, and then spent a long time on his back, staring at the ceiling. He rather believed that the Ceiling was a Manifestation of the Great Grackle, and he was completely astonished by this revelation.  
  
So now Holly was staring at the ceiling too. She supposed if she was a bogglefish, she could also stare at it for five hours on end, as Bob was doing. However, since she was an elf, and a very tired one, she kept falling asleep and trying very hard not to dream.  
  
Things were happening. Holly loved it when things happened, when her life was full of action. She was indeed an action fairy. She needed the adrenaline as much as she needed breathing. And now here was an assignment that looked like it would challenge her limits, something she wanted very badly. Yet she had this sense of foreboding...  
  
Kitsune was probably the main problem.  
  
"Want to know how my day was, Bob?" Holly rolled over and asked the fish. She took his frenzied bubbles of surprise as an affirmative. "I'll tell you about it."  
  
------------------------------  
Flashback -- Earlier that afternoon, in Root's office  
------------------------------  
  
"Bleh."  
  
(Er... flash back even earlier.)  
  
(Grackle!)  
------------------------------  
Flashback -- Even Earlier than the previous One  
-----------------------------  
  
Kitsune refused to come quietly to Root's office. The agitated warlocks would have nothing to do with him -- "Not after what he did to poor Doctor Bill!" -- so Root ordered a couple of stocky, stalwart, off-duty LEPRetrieval officers to bring him in.  
  
Kitsune went to ground in the male's bathroom on the fourth level of the LEP building. The first officers to charge in promptly had their uniforms singed off. Finally, a troop of firefighters was called in -- a group of amusingly short little figures in fireproof suits and ill-advised yellow helmets. Unfortunately, they believed they had been summoned to put out a fire, and...  
  
Quietly observing the sea of foam that seemed to be covering the first five floors of the building, Root decided to take matters into his own hands. "Foaly?"  
  
"WhatwhatwhatwhatWHAT?!!?" The centaur poked his head in the doorway. To say that he was irritable would be a deadly understatement. His horse parts were soaked and sudsy, the fur sticking up in little spikes; foam dripped from his beard. A wet centaur has the tolerance level of a tormented warthog. Foaly took a deep breath and a few pet-tranquilzing pills. "Make it quick. Some nitwit put half the servers on the floor, and they're filling up with this ridiculous foam."   
  
"Get me the number for that bar-thing down the street."  
  
"The Netherworld Flamingo?" Foaly chirped, rattling off the number from memory. Root dialed it and glowered at the phone until someone picked up.  
  
"Netherworld Flamingo, Caspian here."  
  
"I need your bouncer." Root decided to start off by being nice. Direct, but nice. If the kid decided to argue, THEN he'd stop being so polite.  
  
There was a short pause, filled with the distant sound of breaking glass and something that sounded suspiciously like a cow mooing. "Er, I'm sorry, but Joe isn't, er... Joe doesn't do housecalls," the person at the other end said reluctantly.   
  
"This is Commander Root."  
  
The voice at the other end changed abruptly. "Oh, all right. I thought you were an angry wife or something. Yeah, I'll send Joe along. Anything else?"  
  
Deciding to ignore the 'angry wife' comment, Root thought for a minute. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Do you still do that drink?"  
  
"Mountain Dew, Pepsi, Coke, grenadine, lukewarm hot cocoa, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, pepper, lemonade, vanilla, whipped cream, five tablespoons of white sugar, coffee, three tablespoons of colored sugar, and some fruit sherbet?"  
  
"Yeah... that," Root whispered hoarsely, looking around with a vaguely haunted look.  
  
"No, we don't. These days, we do Mountain Dew, Pepsi, Coke, grenadine, lukewarm hot cocoa, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, pepper, lemonade, vanilla, whipped cream, five tablespoons of white sugar, coffee, three tablespoons of colored sugar, and lime Jell-O powder." Caspian's voice was a little apologetic. "There was a -- er, never mind. Would you like one brought up to you with the bouncer, sir?"  
  
"Yes, please... but quietly. Can you do quietly?" Root growled softly. He, himself, wasn't very good at 'doing quietly.'  
  
"Yes, sir, we do quietly very well," Caspian whispered back, to prove how quiet and responsible she was. Then, from the other end of the line, there was a sudden explosion, screeching, a cow mooing, glass shattering, and a huge rush of either static or water. Someone screamed "D'ARVIT!" and the line went dead.  
  
Root stared at the phone as if the disaster would leap through the wires and bite his ear. He quietly replaced the phone on the cradle and sat back in his chair.  
  
Unfortunately, he hadn't been quiet enough. Foaly stuck his head back in, a headset propped over his customary tinfoil hat. "Root! Well, I never thought you were one for Mountain Dew, Pepsi, Coke, grenadine, lukewarm hot cocoa, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, pepper, lemonade, vanilla, whipped cream, five tablespoons of white sugar, coffee, three tablespoons of colored sugar, and lime Jell-O powder... Whatever will the boys think?"  
  
"Get out!" Root roared, his face flaring to the color of strawberry jam. He scrabbled desperately about on his desk for something to throw, but Foaly ducked out just in time, braying with laughter.  
  
In a few minutes, Joe the Bouncer, a muscly creature of uncertain gender, stomped into the men's bathroom, dragged Kitsune out, and proceeded to haul the taller person to Root's office. Kistune struggled superbly, a display that any average three-year-old boy would be proud of. He starfished at all the doors, that classic pose with the hands and the feet splayed out so that you absolutely can't go through. He bit Joe, but Joe didn't care, or indeed seem to notice. He set many, many things on fire, but the all-encompassing foam foiled his attempts.  
  
Holly had been sent out on a quick doughnut run, as the Administrative Assistant was refusing to do anything so demeaning. ("If ANYONE tries to send me for coffee, I'll-- I'll -- tape them into their offices!") She was returning, grudgingly lugging several boxes of doughnuts, when the foam began pouring out into the street.   
  
Every window in the LEP main building seemed to be leaking fireproof foam, as if the rocketproof glass was crying tears of whipped cream. It was an inspiring sight. Her auburn eyebrows shot straight up. "Wow... even I've never been able to do that."  
  
Tiptoeing in awe through the thigh-high suds, Holly came across an interesting sight. There was that annoying pyro, being frog-marched through the ocean of foam. He was just about the only one who wasn't submerged in suds. He shot her a desperate, pleading look as a muscly creature dragged him in the direction of Root's office. Interested, Holly followed with the doughnuts.  
  
Joe the Bouncer put Kitsune into a seat and stood impassively, massive arms folded across a bulldozer chest. Commander Root grunted at him. Joe grunted back, and held out a hand. Root grunted and put some money into it. They grunted amiably, nodded, shook hands, and Joe left.  
  
Kitsune watched the exchange with wide eyes, like they were cannibals conspiring on how to eat him. Holly sauntered into the office and gave him a savage little smile that did nothing to allay his fears. She slung herself, uninvited, into a chair and looked expectantly between him and Root.   
  
"Wasn't Captain Kelp supposed to be here?"  
  
"No. They're on the street again, he's got one day to find the two of 'em a new place." Root looked through some papers on his desk, searching for something. Holly raised her eyebrows at Kitsune, who glared right back at her. He mouthed something in Japanese that she decided not to notice. She shrugged, pulling a packet of candy out of her pocket.   
  
"All right, I think this is it. Holly?"   
  
She took the piece of paper Root handed to her and looked at it. "No, sir, it's another recipe."  
  
"D'Arvit." Root nearly snarled in frustration. "This. All right, Kitsune, sign here."  
  
Kitsune took the paper dubiously, narrowing his electric eyes at the seemingly endless scribbles. "What's all this about?"  
  
"Liability," Root told him, handing him a pen. "We need your Gift."  
  
Kitsune gave him a completely blank look. He turned to Holly, as if she would be more understandable, but she just looked back at him with sly, catlike innocence. The look suited her well, despite the blue childish smudge on her lips from the candy. "D'Arvit, I'm no good at lectures," she sighed when Kitsune continued to stare expectantly at her. "Where's that donkey when you need him?"  
  
Through the mists of foam, Foaly trotted furiously, screaming desperation from every pore. His beloved electronics practically shrieked in agony as foam seeped into their precious circuits, rendering the Headquarters more and more helpless with every second. The group of tiny firefighters looked up at him sheepishly, attempting to hide the firehose behind their backs.   
  
"You, you, and you," Foaly brayed, grabbing the selected ones and shoving them into a group. "Get the electronics out of danger. NOW! You others. Do you have any really, really big vacuum cleaners?" Without warning, his communicator went off, and Foaly bit it in half. Well, not really, but he conveyed the same impression, and the effect was the same.   
  
"Yes, Juuuulius," he growl-breathed, trying to sound cool, calm, and arrogantly in control, without letting slip that he was about to explode. Instead, he sounded like a perverted phone-breather. "Yes, I'll be in your office immediately. Anything else you need? Coffee, doughnuts, sugar, tea? THE WORLD MOVED, PERHAPS?" Foaly flung the communicator into the foggy mists of foam. He gritted his tombstone teeth so hard that sparks almost flew; he tugged fistfuls of hair and beard in different directions until they stood out like an enraged grackle; he stomped and whinned and gibbered and flailed about. "What are you looking at?" he demanded breathlessly of the startled crowd, before galloping off through the suds.   
  
--------------------------  
A Few Minutes Later...  
--------------------------  
  
Foaly barged into the office, ranted and cursed for a while to work off excess steam, then explained patiently to Kitsune that they actually needed him. "You're not a fairy, are you?"   
  
Kitsune shook his head, "I'm a kitsunehi-rei."  
  
They decided to let that pass. "So, what you have isn't really the Gift, is it?" Foaly pressed. Without waiting for an answer, he barreled on. "From the account you gave awhile ago, you flamed the enemy, and he survived only because he was actually holding ivory. But the fact that you managed to do anything at all-- ARE YOU WITH ME HERE?!" he bellowed randomly, making everyone but Root jump. "Good. So, put two and two together, your Gift isn't as impaired as theirs--" a quick stab of his finger at Holly and Root -- "And theirs --" Another jab in the general direction of all the other citizens underground -- "And we'll probably need that in confrontations. Sign the damn piece of paper. I've done all I'm going to, the computers are soggy, I'm getting treatment and you can get knotted." With a flurry of hooves, Foaly stampeded out the door.  
  
"Meet Foaly, our technician," Holly said brightly.   
  
Root reached across and drummed his fingers on the piece of paper. Resigned, Kitsune scribbled his name on it in sprawling kanji. As soon as he was finished, Root hit him very hard on the shoulder. "You're now an honorary emergency specialist, completely justified in the budget. Welcome aboard. Come with me." Root nipped out of the chair with a surprising agility considering his age, weight, and smoking habit.  
  
With a mental sigh, Kitsune followed the much shorter person out of the office. He reminded himself again that he might as well humor them, and that he didn't have anything else to do anyway. Yeah.   
  
When she was sure they were gone, Holly sidled forward. Never underestimate an elven sense of smell, especially when it belongs to someone as curious and unrelenting as Holly. She'd noticed a weird scent lingering in the air, despite the foul cigars and general grackle-dung-grungy smell of the carpet.  
  
On a wild hunch, she knelt down on the floor and started untacking the carpet. There was a plastic travel mug with a tightly shut lid. Holly recognized the colors and design on the cup at once; a special delivery from the Netherworld Flamingo. Feeling suddenly cheerful, she opened it up and sniffed the contents.  
  
It fizzed, it roiled, it seemed to chuckle to itself. It was Trouble's Drink. Holly took a quick look around. "Why not," she told herself, and took a sip.  
  
The only way to describe the drink was in her reaction. Her eyes widened, and she stared at the mug with fascination and disgust and respectful awe. She made one sound.  
  
"Bleh."  
  
----------------------  
End of Flashback  
----------------------  
  
And that was Holly's day. She just barely had the energy to relate it all to her fish.  
  
One grackle in her side was the fact that Kitsune got in simply because he was an endangered species with a different Gift, and it had taken her YEARS of training and politeness and climbing the proverbial ladder to get to where she was in the LEP. Another reason to dislike him.   
  
She said as much to Bob, finishing her tale of woe with a sad sigh. The fish gave her an expressive look. It could have meant "Feed me," or it could have meant "Who on Earth are you?!" Holly decided that it meant "I sympathize with and adore you, Holly." She smiled at the fish, and put her hand in the tank to adjust his seaweed. He almost had a heart attack.  
  
Holly decided to take that as gratitude.  
  
---------------------  
Mid Sunday Evening  
Househunting in Haven  
---------------------  
  
Trouble looked painfully around at the only apartment he could find. Even the real estate agent had lost her veneer of cheerful optimism just by looking at it. She, too, looked around the apartment, and couldn't really find anything to say about it.   
  
"Well," she ventured, after they had mutually stared for a few minutes at an astonishing yellowish-green growth of mold. "It needs a little TLC, but it sure has... possibilities."  
  
"Oh, yes. Garbage dump? Toxic waste landfill? Scientific experiment to stimulate re-evolution of life?" Trouble answered with a sarcasm bordering on hysteria. "This -- this is IT?"  
  
"Well, you and your brother can get back to nature," the agent tried, waving a hopeful hand at the savage-looking fungi sprouting nastily from the walls. "What with these, and the... cockroaches..."  
  
"And the swear toads!" Trouble noted, pointing at the warty creatures perched on the damp, moldy, peeling counters. They looked back at him balefully. "Don't forget the toads!"  
  
"And the swear toads," the realtor added doggedly, "And the mushrooms... It's just like a forest floor..."  
  
Trouble laughed a little laugh that was both sarcastic and insane. "So it's either moving in here, or staying with my mother."  
  
A cockroach the size of his ear scuttled across his foot. He kicked it into a corner, where it lay, wiggling and whimpering loudly, like a wounded grackle.  
  
"The appliances are intact," the realtor offered, opening the fridge. Green smoke billowed out, and a stream of crickets poured out of the vegetable bin and into cracks in the floor.  
  
Trouble looked around decisively. "I'll take it."  
  
---------------------  
Late Sunday Evening  
Sign Of The Frothing Grackle  
(Grungy Black-Market Tavern in Siberia)  
---------------------  
  
The Sign of the Frothing Grackle was aptly named. Outside the bullet-ridden, half-burnt lead-lined door, there was a sign with a frothing grackle on it. Never mind the fact that grackles are not natively Siberian birds. Contest the name of the tavern and its owner was likely to leap after you with a dirk.  
  
Mikhael and Niklaus, late of the Russian Mafiya, were loudly and drunkenly having an argument about how to hunt grackles (machine guns or hand grenades? The age old question) when a classically mysterious stranger entered the bar. One half expected to hear the usual movie-style minor-key bad-guy chords in the background. A tough-looking guard, who rather resembled Joe of the Netherworld Flamingo, went up to the newcomer to check for weapons. The newcomer declined to be frisked, instead asking for the metal-detector treatment.  
  
With an annoyed growl, the guard pulled out a metal detector that looked like it had been swiped from an airport. He made a few passes that came up negative and angrily motioned the classically mysterious stranger on. "Take your coat, sir?" he asked ferociously, reaching for the shoulder fabric as he spoke.  
  
The newcomer flinched away automatically from contact, his classic black trench coat rustling with the movement. He was shorter than the guard, and so lightly built that it seemed ridiculous for him to defy that several hundred pounds of muscle. He looked up fixingly with deep black eyes, with an eagle's cruel coolness in them. "No."  
  
"Are you sure?" the guard asked belligerently. "It gets... hot in here."   
  
The newcomer looked at him disparagingly and walked off to the bar.  
  
"Really, you can't completely eliminate the advantages of the throwing knife in grackle combat, though," Mikhael argued convincingly, throwing his arms around. He was quite surprised when one of his arms didn't come back. Groggily, he looked up it and noticed that his wrist was caught in someone else's hand.  
  
Takaban held the wrist in an iron grip as he examined the watch on it. An expensive piece, the likes of which this man could never hope to honestly buy. Twisting Mikhael's wrist thoughtfully, Takaban neatly removed the watch and looked at it. One glance at the back of it confirmed this thought.   
  
"A while ago, you took this watch from a man named Artemis Fowl," he said calmly, his Russian marked with an accent that Mikhael and Niklaus couldn't place. "I know about your ransom attempt. For a short time you kept him on a radioactive submarine. Have you shown any signs of the cancer yet?"  
  
"C-Cancer?" The dreaded word cut through the foggy, alchoholic mists of the men's brains. Takaban looked at them steadily.   
  
"I know how to cure the cancer. I need you to do something for me." There was a slight, barely noticeable swish as Takaban sat down on a bar stool. "I offer you health and protection against the law. You stand willing to testify that you did indeed kidnap Artemis Fowl before a client of mine."  
  
Mikhael and Niklaus shared a long, surprised, slightly tipsy look. After a few minutes, they agreed. Takaban smiled slightly and left. Black-feathered wings rustled, hidden beneath his trench coat.  
  
"Who was that?" one barfly asked another.  
  
The second man shrugged. "John Malkovich?"  
  
"Hey, hey, probably." The first man noticed something on the floor and bent unsteadily to pick it up. Squinting deliberately, he looked at the silky, coal-black feather. "'Ey, where did this come from?"  
  
The second man looked at it pensively. "A grackle?" he offered.  
```````````````` Rant, Rant, Rant ````````````````````````````  
  
Seems like a lot of bouncers in this chapter, no? (The Netherworld Flamingo is NOT a bar or a tavern, though. And I do not condone drunkenness or drinking. I condone sugar and hyperness.)  
  
"Come and see the violence," "Help, help, I'm being repressed" "I'm getting treatment" etc. borrowed from Monty Python. All good Monty Python fans should know where I got them from. Everyone else will just have to wonder.  
  
It occurs to me that Kistune is very like Ford Prefect, from the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. Did you know that the Monty Pythons were acquainted with Douglas Adams? I think it must be a plot of some sort. Let me know if you figure it out.  
  
Other than that, not much to say, except I'm so sorry I haven't been answering reviews and it's been so long since last chapter. Too much writing. Much too much too much too much too much...  
  
PS As I have not read the Eternity Code, and I hear it is very sad and depressing and nobody likes it anyway, this fic will continue until its end with little or no influence from that book. Is that okay with everybody? (If it isn't, you'll just have to wait until our dinky little small-town library gets the book, or somebody types it up and posts it on the Internet, since I'm too broke to even buy a new goldfish. Kokoro-Bob IV died!) 


	9. If I Tried, I could probably think of a ...

------------------------------------  
  
Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files  
  
By Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
Notes: Janisha Silver figures largely in this chapter. But for a good reason. Bear with me. Please.  
  
Thanks to Kitty Rainbow for playing the cameo role in the Netherworld Flamingo. Next chapter I intend to do a few more cameos as customers at the Flamingo. Any volunteers? (Recruitment plea at end of Chapter)  
  
(Note: The song quote today is one of my personal favorites. If you know it, praise on high! The book quote I found in a really old book at the library the library. Published 1920. Isn't that weird? Isn't it perfect? Isn't it BRILLIANT? Isn't it... reverse plagiarism? I'd sue the man if he wasn't... dead.)  
  
________________________________________________________________________  
  
Chapter Nine: If I Tried, I Could Probably Think of A Better Title  
  
_________________________________________________________________________  
  
""A trout, hiding under a stone, watched the dog's tongue as it broke through the arch of water-and-air above him. It seemed like a great mystery, and filled the little fish with religious fears. "After all," he said to a friend who was passing by, "We know very little of what lies beyond; and we should worship what we do not know." "Nonsense," said his friend, "There is nothing beyond, except an absence of water. Do you want to worship an absence?"  
  
The first fish did not reply. But it seemed to him that there was, at least, neither cruelty nor injustice in an absence; and that an actual Prescence in the world above was just as mysterious as nothing at all."" -- From "Sir Henry" by Robert Nathan  
  
"I watched the world float to the  
  
Dark side of the moon  
  
After all I knew it had to be something  
  
To do with you  
  
I really don't mind what happens now and then  
  
As long as you'll be my friend at the end..."  
  
--- "Kryptonite" by Three Doors Down  
  
---------------------  
  
Sunday Night  
  
Outside L92 Chute Entrance  
  
---------------------  
  
Janisha Silver groaned dizzily as she stepped out into fresh air. She'd never liked journeying through the chutes -- it gave her a pressure headache -- and now, with her Gift as dry as it had ever been, she could barely see straight.   
  
She looked horrible, and she knew it. Her shoulders slumped, her battered uniform hanging on her body like floursacks on a sawhorse. She hadn't even had the time to take a shower.   
  
"Man, this whole thing bites," Janisha muttered to no one in particular, straining to see in the dark. Interns like her weren't allowed special equipment like wings or nightvision goggles. The stingy bureaucrats at the Council thought they couldn't be trusted with those, when not even the Lower Elements Police had access to decent technology.  
  
No one stopped to think how dangerous it was for young medics like her every time they went to the surface. She had no power left for shielding or mesmer. Without equipment and drained of her power, she and all the other students who had to replenish their Gift were sitting ducks for whatever humans or wild animals happened to wander by. If one kid got caught, that was it. So much for the species.  
  
Out in the open hills of Ireland, it was cold, for July. Shivering, Janisha pulled her jacket tighter as she trudged towards the great oak tree. She tried with every fiber of her being not to hate those bastards at the Council. It didn't work.  
  
She hated them.  
  
All alone on the surface, filled with resentment and a yawning exhaustion, Janisha began to feel depressed. Haven was such an enclosed and boring place. Here, out under the watchful stars with the cold wind whipping her jacket and giving her reason to move -- this was where she belonged. Not shut up in an underground hospital to heal the broken bodies of others for the rest of her life.  
  
With her breath coming more raggedly than ever, Janisha collapsed at the base of the oak tree. Everything was there -- the full moon, the ancient oak, the twisting water. Her eyelids closed halfway, her mouth was parched, and her head swam. She fumbled about on the ground until she touched the hard, smooth surface of a perfect acorn.   
  
Find a place to plant it, far from the spot where it was taken.   
  
Janisha got tiredly to her feet, trudging off into the dark. She was too tired and cold to go very far, so she climbed over an old stone wall and landed in a farmer's pasture. She scrabbled about on her hands and knees, grinding mud into the fabric of her poor clothes. As soon as she got back from this, she was taking a shower, with all her clothes ON. Interns barely recieved enough pay to buy soap -- doing laundry was a luxury. Sometimes the warlock interns would get together with some university students or junior LEP officers, and they would pool their money to go to the laundromat. Yeah, wasn't Haven a fun place to be young in?  
  
Janisha scraped away some leaves and loam, making a little nest for her acorn. "From the earth thy power flows, given through courtesy, so thanks are owed..." she mumbled.  
  
Suddenly, a pair of heavy hands closed down around her neck. Janisha screamed, struggling, but her strength could never match that of her opponent.  
  
Touched without her permission, her copy of the Book caught fire, burning away to nothing in an instant.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------  
  
Meanwhile in the Fish Tank in Holly's Apartment  
  
----------------------------------------------------------  
  
Bob the Atlantean Bogglefish suddenly realized that he was a Prophetic Fish.  
  
He had just had a vision of the Future.  
  
The Future was round, and slightly spongy in the middle. It was an orangish-yellowish color, with dimples. The Vision hovered next to the Ceiling, which was of course the Epitome of Everything.  
  
The Future, Bob decided, was both grapefruit and yet it was not grapefruit. It was a Zen-like state of being, at once yes-fruit and no-fruit. Perhaps it was a grackle. Perhaps it was an origami rendition of a weasel. Perhaps it was a moldering plate of cottage cheese left for too long in the fridge.  
  
Bob floated at a diagonal angle and thought deep thoughts.  
  
Like all bogglefish, he was farsighted, and it took a lot of amusing squinting and crossed eyes to focus on things near his nose. On a whim, he crossed his huge white eyes and squinted, and was shocked and astonished to see Something come into focus.  
  
His fishy heart almost stopped in horror.  
  
What WAS that?!  
  
----------------------------------------------------  
  
Meanwhile Back in Tara  
  
-----------------------------------------------------  
  
Butler winced as the sparks from the burning Book flew into his eyes. Thankfully his shiny, reflective sunglasses protected them. He kept a tight grip on the small, wiggling form, feeling the delicate bones and cool skin of something not quite human. His huge hand was clamped tightly over its mouth, preventing any noise.   
  
Abruptly the little thing stopped struggling and seemed to go limp. With a shock, Butler realized that he'd been cutting off its air supply. His hands were so big, and its face was so small. Quickly he pulled away so the captive could breathe. "Artemis?" he said into his headset.  
  
"What?" came the clear reply.  
  
"It's unconscious."  
  
There was a pause. "What, it fainted?"  
  
"Not exactly. Oh, no, she's coming around."  
  
"She?" Artemis paused, wondering if he'd accidentally caught Holly again. Actually, he hoped he had. Holly would probably sort him out. "What species?"  
  
"Uh..." Butler looked at it askance. "A... blue one."  
  
Not Holly, then, unless she had spontaneously decided to start painting her face with woad. It didn't seem likely, Holly had never struck him as the makeup type. Artemis pulled out of his cover and approached the manservant and his new captive.  
  
What a pity he couldn't use Mulch to show him an entrance to Haven. The dwarf would be arrested instantly, and Artemis would be short an employee. He didn't really like swooping down on People as they tried to plant acorns, though. It seemed vaguely un-sporting.  
  
"A warlock," Artemis announced, eyeing the slate-skinned figure, who was blinking dazedly. "Juvenile, I believe." Raising his sunglasses slightly, he walked slowly around her, as if she was an interesting exhibit at the museum or zoo. "Medic?" he demanded abruptly, noting her uniform.  
  
She nodded, tensing automatically into an 'at-attention' pose. "Junior Medic, field division,--" she began, cutting herself off before she spilled anything important. Artemis nodded vaguely. "Oh, don't worry, you can't really tell me anything I don't know. I'm Artemis Fowl the Second."  
  
"D'Arvit." Janisha slumped even farther than she had been. She gave the impression that she could sink no farther. "Well, don't bother with ransom. The LEP doesn't care that much about me, I'm just a broke, lowly female intern." She said this almost challengingly.  
  
Artemis didn't even blink. "I'm not here for money, intern. I need to get into Haven." Butler gave him a raised-eyebrow look, and Artemis added, "Please?"  
  
"Ha." The warlock wiggled slightly, but Butler's grip was like rock.   
  
"It's urgent. I need to speak to Commander Root. It's very important," Artemis said, looking down at her. Janisha's fingers slowly scrabbled forward, scooping up some granules of dirt, and slowly she pulled them back. Butler caught her long thin hand, tossing the acorn out of reach. "You can plant your acorn when we're done with you."  
  
"Why do you need the commander?" Janisha asked evenly, trying to ignore the pain in her wrist. She couldn't stop the thrill running through her. Here she was, talking with the former greatest enemy of the People. All right, maybe her life wasn't so boring after all. "Besides, the pressure underground..."  
  
Artemis tightened his lips. "None of your business, really, though I can see why you're nervous. Think, though - what harm can I do to Haven? You may take my word, I urgently need to talk to the commander. For all of our sakes. And I've been underground before. A token of faith," he added, handing her a new acorn. Janisha looked at him blankly. She took the nut, scooped out a little hollow of earth, laid it to rest there with a clump of dirt over it.   
  
A flood of blue sparks rushed over her, and the two humans blinked despite their sunglasses. The rush of power was almost blinding in the darkness, lighting up the night with a glowing blue aura. Janisha crouched with her eyes closed, sparks shooting up her fingers and arms and head and filling her up. They began to slow down after a minute, but there was still an eerie blue glow in the air.  
  
As if answering the blue beacon, a pair of headlights cut through the dark. It was a deserted place, but there was occasionally traffic.   
  
"D'Arvit," Artemis said emphatically, and Janisha looked up, shocked to hear him use a Gnommish swear.   
  
"Do you know what that means?" she started, a huge smirk covering her face, before she noticed the headlights. "Oh. D'Arvit."  
  
Butler stood up and pulled her upright, putting her behind his back. The truck slowed to a halt, and the three of them froze as two people and an animal got out. Janisha got herself ready before she felt Artemis's scathing scorn in her ear.   
  
"Don't try to shield, fairy. They have a dog. He's already smelled you."  
  
"Urgh." Although she would never admit it, Janisha ducked farther behind Butler. Large dogs made her nervous. A dog is impervious to shielding or mesmer, and it's far more quiet, intelligent and versatile than your average troll. An angry, hungry dog could shred a pixie to pieces like a dragonfly on the wing. Silver shuddered and made herself stop thinking these thoughts.  
  
The farmers and their dog approached them with more curiousity than aggression. "What's going on here, a fire?" one of them shouted when they were in hailing distance.  
  
"No," Artemis said. He motioned to Butler and walked off. Butler followed, Janisha's wrist clamped tightly between his thumb and index finger.  
  
The farmers looked at each other, at a loss, and shrugged in utter confusion. They walked back to their truck. Their dog remained behind, staring at the third figure in the party with the oddest look on its face. A growl escaped its throat, and it backed away with its hackles raised before turning and fleeing after its master.   
  
-------------------------  
  
Sunday Night  
  
Howler's Peak  
  
-------------------------  
  
Blip. An instant message popped up on Opal's screen.  
  
With a sigh, she clicked on it. The little screen shot up, reading:  
  
LOTRHotFangirl: Why do you insist on being so perverted?  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: I'm not perverted. I'm an artist. Expect a virus to disintegrate your computer at about 3.30 tomorrow afternoon.  
  
Opal Koboi closed the window and set about sending off the virus. Who said prisoners didn't have fun? There she was, completely isolated, just her and the great World Wide Web. She was the spider, and everyone else caught up in the Web was her prey.  
  
Opal laughed a slightly insane little laugh and rattled her fingernails together.  
  
Blip.  
  
LOTRHotFangirl: Is nothing sacred?  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: No, not really. Would you like another virus?  
  
LOTRHotFangirl: Bite me.  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: Very well.  
  
LOTRHotFangirl: You can't get past my firewalls.  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: Watch me.  
  
LOTRHotFangirl: Hit me with your worst... I'll have you knocked off fanfiction.net!  
  
-------------------  
  
Fowl Manor  
  
-------------------  
  
Juliet Butler growled at her computer. "I'd like to knock this witch into the middle of next update," she snarled, then smacked herself upside the head. "Oh, no. My muffins!" Quickly, she typed an instant message.  
  
LOTRHotFangirl: GTG. MAB. Shall we continue some other time?  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: MAB?  
  
LOTRHotFangirl: Muffins Are Burnt...  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: ... I see.  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: ... Not really.  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: Tell me when you get back.  
  
LOTRHotFangirl has logged off.  
  
Juliet smiled and ran downstairs to the kitchen, which was filled with a weird, thick, greasy black smoke.  
  
-----------------  
  
Howler's Peak  
  
-----------------  
  
Opal Koboi stared dejectedly at her computer. MAB. It obviously was some kind of term, but it meant something she didn't know. Was it a new slash term she'd never heard of before? Why hadn't she heard of it?  
  
MAB. Muffins Are Burnt. What could it insinuate?  
  
Muffins...  
  
What could it mean? She had to find out.   
  
"Get back here quick," she pleaded to her silent computer. "Please!"  
  
-----------------------  
  
Late Sunday Night  
  
Chute Terminal E1, Tara, Ireland  
  
-----------------------  
  
Only a few People were wandering around the shuttleport at this time of night. Janisha froze up, her fingers clenching the controls. She had always been a nervous flier, especially in rentals. This was a rental at its worst -- a beat-up pod with more dents than windows, its controls as loose as a dwarf's bowels.  
  
Whipping her head around, she glared at Artemis Fowl, who looked at her impassively from behind his sunglasses.  
  
"I can't take a Mud Teen through THIS. It's crowded. There's People here. I'll be arrested for treason."  
  
"No, you won't," Artemis said calmly, leafing through one of the magazines he'd found on the floor. Nobody had cleaned out this cheap rental pod for a while, so it was filled with other driver's junk. The magazine Artemis had appeared to be the People's version of 'People.' He looked at it with distaste, then met her eyes again. The warlock saw herself reflected in those shiny mesmer-proof glasses, and realized with embarrassment what a messy character she looked. Despite herself, she flushed, giving her cheeks an angry purple tinge. "What makes you so sure, Mud Teen?"  
  
"Mud Teen? Haven't heard that one before. I thought I was a Mud Boy," Artemis said in the same half-interested tone.  
  
"No, you're not nearly cute enough to be a little Boy, and you're too scrawny for a Man," Janisha sighed, fidgeting. Did these people have no sense of time? She looked pleadingly at Butler, who was completely cramped into the backseat of the cheap little pod, looking somewhat like a water buffalo crammed into a very small Pontiac.   
  
"Calm down, Medic," Artemis ordered with supreme calm. "You may leave the vehicle, after promising to return with Commander Root."  
  
"Promise?" Janisha said weakly.   
  
"Otherwise, Butler will deal with you," Artemis mentioned, gesturing to the huge manservant. Janisha blinked, setting her hand on the pod door.   
  
"All right, I promise."  
  
"Swear it," Artemis said, not looking up. Janisha growled. "I swear it on my Book."  
  
"Which you haven't got," Artemis observed. The warlock looked down at the empty chain around her neck.   
  
"I swear it on the new copy of the Book I will buy on the very rare occasion that I have money? No," she sighed, "Not good enough. How about on my reputation? That good enough for you?"  
  
"Not really, you being a broke, lowly female intern," Artemis said, flipping casually through another magazine. Butler coughed meaningfully, and Artemis finally looked up. "But, since you obviously don't have anything else, it'll have to do."  
  
"Good," Silver spat sarcastically, opening the door.   
  
"Wait," Artemis commanded. "Say it."  
  
Janisha bit her lip. Placing her hand on her chest, where her insignia would be one day, she looked him in the eye. "I swear on my reputation and honor that I will return with Commander Root. Providing, of course, that he listens to someone like me. Which isn't likely."  
  
Artemis looked at her. Seeing that she was serious, he sighed. "Why couldn't I have kidnapped someone important," he muttered. He continued to stare at her a long time. "All right, I understand. Find Captain Short instead... and show her this. She'll believe you."  
  
Janisha looked at the object he dropped so reluctantly into her hand.  
  
It was a gold coin, of fairy make. It would have bought her two day's supply of the ramen noodles that are the staple diet of all broke students worldwide. However, as money, it was worthless. There was a hole blasted neatly and cleanly through the center of the coin.  
  
She saw Artemis looking at her steadily. Perhaps this little ruined coin meant something more to him than money. She couldn't possibly think what. This WAS Artemis Fowl after all.  
  
"All right," she said, sighing again deeply, so that this insolent Mud Teen would appreciate the enormity of what she was doing. "I'll be right back."  
  
---------------  
  
Fowl Manor  
  
---------------  
  
Juliet burst out laughing, clapping her hand over her mouth before the Fowl parents could hear. They had gone to bed early, aided by a little sleeping draught in their after-dinner drinks. Juliet was left to hold the fort while her older brother and Artemis traipsed all over God knew where.   
  
She was happy with the arrangement. She got to chat with her new friend.  
  
LOTRHotFangirl: LOL! That's an incredible insight!  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: Thank you. If you read enough Tolkien, you can pick up all kinds of weird stuff. Did you know that he based his stories on what he taught at Oxford?  
  
LOTRHotFangirl: No, I just know the movies.  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: *long sigh* We have a lot to learn.  
  
---------------------  
  
Howler's Peak  
  
---------------------  
  
Opal wasn't too bad off either. She now had a disciple to instruct, which gave her something to do. Howler's Peak suddenly didn't seem so bad after all. Her new student used far too many smilies and abbreviations, and her poor grammar and spelling were a headache for the perfectionist pixie to decipher. Still, Opal Koboi was always one for a challenge. These things could be fixed.  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: We should keep talking. Do you want my email?  
  
LOTRHotFangirl: Are you kidding? The rest of the community's scared to death of you! It would be soooo cool!  
  
Opal smiled. So her new friend also put too many "O's" in 'so.' As in, "Briar was sooo ugly, but he was sooo evil."  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: You know, we're actually a lot alike.  
  
--------------------------  
  
Undisclosed Location  
  
(Somewhere Very Cold)  
  
----------------------------  
  
Mikhael Vassikin woke up in a small, bare-looking room. Takaban looked at him impassively. "The cancer's gone," he said as Mikhael started poking himself all over. "I made sure of that." He walked over to Vassikin and seized the man's hair. It had been shedding a bit from the illegal chemotherapy sessions Vassikin had been getting, but now it stayed in as firm as ever. "Where's Niklaus?" he managed to croak.  
  
"He is only a partial witness. I've already questioned him. You, however, witnessed most of the transaction. Now it's your turn." Takaban knelt and started unpacking a video camera. Vassikin noticed that he was still wearing the long coat, though the room was moderately warm. With a whirl and a slight rustle, Takaban faced him with the camera, checking the light quality and fitting it to a tripod. "It's all quite unnecessary, of course," he said suddenly in the husky low monotone that seemed to be his only speaking voice. "I just like paying attention to detail."  
  
Vassikin wasn't sure of what to say to that, but he had no time to sit in confused silence. The camera was in his face and Takaban was looking at him steadily. "I need to ask you some questions, and I need you to be completely honest. You do know what honesty is, don't you?"  
  
"Yes," Vassikin said, affronted.  
  
"You just don't practice it," Takaban sighed. "Look me in the eyes, Vassikin. I don't appreciate lies. Now, I need you to tell me everything -- starting when the Fowl Star crashed in the Gulf of Kola."  
  
Vassikin looked into Takaban's night-black eyes and felt a little dizzy. "Camera," he croaked.  
  
"Don't mind the camera, it's not even there."   
  
Vassikin believed him completely. The camera was not even there.  
  
He opened his mouth and the words came rushing out.  
  
-----------------------------  
  
Night-Owl Shift, Sunday Night  
  
Netherworld Flamingo  
  
Downtown Haven  
  
-----------------------------  
  
Kitty, Illustrious Bartender of the Netherworld Flamingo, ran her fingers through her hair, raking out a few brightly colored feathers that a Random Parrot had left there when it flew, stupidly, into her head. With her other hand, she poured a glowing green liquid into a glass, where it reacted strangely with the liquid already there. She pushed the glass over to the customer, who happened to be a certain sprite with a rakish, spiderweb scar in his wing.  
  
"So, babe, what's your sign?" he asked suavely, accepting the radioactive-looking liquid.  
  
Kitty reached behind the bar and pulled out a sign. It read, "BEWARE OF POKE."  
  
Chix Verbil squinted as he read it. "Never heard of that sign before. What's it mean?"  
  
Kitty poked him with it. He fell off the stool.  
  
She grinned hyperly and pulled a notepad out of her apron pocket. "Number of People Poked Today: 37." She added a tallymark and nodded emphatically, bouncing with the movement. A nearby gnome noticed this and relocated to the other end of the bar, muttering crustily about "hyperness" and "not in my day."  
  
Caspian dashed by, carrying far too many trays. A Random Parrot leaped from the rafters to divebomb her head, screaming "You'll never take me alive!" Disaster was inevitable.   
  
Dashing about frantically, Kitty caught two trays in her free hand and one on her left foot, gracefully catching a spoon with her tongue. Caspian flung herself on her stomach, managing to catch a tray in her hands, a fork in her toes, and an ice cube with her ear. They stared at each other in awe.  
  
"How did we do that?"  
  
"No idea," Kitty replied cheerfully. Caspian got to her feet and promptly tripped over them again.  
  
"Oh well. Didn't break anything," she said weakly as all the things she caught fell back in the downward direction.  
  
"And elves are always bragging about how graceful they are," a pixie at the bar snorted disdainfully.  
  
Kitty looked down at the trays she had miraculously rescued. She noticed with surprise the drinks and food arranged on one of the trays. Nobody else ordered this stuff, except --  
  
"I'll take these, Caspian," she announced, feeling that her night just got a lot more interesting.  
  
"I was blind but now I see!" A Random Parrot preached. "The clarity is devastating. But where is the ambiguity? Over there in a box." It took off and collided with another Random Parrot midair. They lay on their backs, gurgling at the ceiling. Getting unsteadily to her feet, Caspian picked them up before they got danced on, and put them in a dishwasher, to sober up. "Thanks," she said breathlessly.  
  
"Never give up! Never surrender!" one of the Parrots squalled defiantly. Caspian caught it as it tried to escape and stuffed it into the silverware rack. "Sit! Stay!" She ordered pointlessly.  
  
"Come and see the violence inherent in the system!" the other Parrot bawled.  
  
"Shut up! Bloody parrot!"  
  
Meanwhile, Kitty had distributed all of her trays except one. She approached her final customer, who seemed lost in thought, staring blankly at the table.  
  
"Room for one more, Trub?"  
  
The only reply she got was a distant, half-comprehensible noise. Kitty took it as an affirmative and slid into the seat, dropping the tray in front of her. "I heard you guys had to move. How's the new place?"  
  
"Nightmarish," Trouble said despondently. He batted away a Random Parrot that was giggling in his ear. Without looking up, he outlined the gruesome details of the new apartment. Kitty's eyes widened and she immediately produced a flyswatter and a pair of rubber gloves. "You're letting your little brother stay in a place like that?!" she demanded, loading them into Trouble's arms. "Make sure he gets these!"  
  
"Truly and indeed, you have chosen a bad place to be lame in," the Random Parrot hissed sibilantly. Still looking at the table, Trouble picked up the flyswatter and smacked it like a feathery badminton birdie. "Drink milk for strong healthy booooooones!" it cried distantly as it sailed off over the rafters.  
  
"So how's work?" Kitty contined in an attempt to keep up the conversation. It was hard, as the Parrots were unusually determined tonight, and kept pelting them with irrelevancies. ("When in Turkey, do as the Turkeys do!")  
  
"Bad," Trouble said, looking at her for the first time. "I can't tell you about it, though. Confidential." And he went back to looking depressedly at the table.  
  
"How's Grub?" Kitty attempted.  
  
His reaction was completely unexpected. Captain Kelp, who was always so athletic and aggressive and generally cool, suddenly curled up in the fetal position and started sobbing. It was completely out of character, and all Kitty could do was slide into his seat, pat him on the shoulder, beat off the Parrots and murmur words of comfort.  
  
Her job did have its perks.  
  
--------------------------  
  
Undisclosed  
  
--------------------------  
  
LEP Corporal Lili Frond entered the room nervously. She looked blankly at the unconscious Mikhael Vassikin, sprawled inelegantly into a chair. "Ugly species, aren't they?"  
  
Takaban didn't reply. He shrugged off his jacket and spread one wing, preening through the black feathers with both hands. Short feathers, long feathers, downy feathers, minor pinions - they came loose and drifted loosely to the floor. Healthy feathers don't shed that fast. He stared at them with a deeply depressed look. "I haven't got long left," he whispered.  
  
"What?" Lili asked, flicking some more blond tresses over her shoulder.  
  
"Nothing. I'm just brooding." Takaban nodded at Vassikin's snoring form. "Get him out of here, please?"  
  
"Sure," she shrugged. "Anything else?"  
  
Takaban paused. "Yes. Tell Marcus to start working on his project, and you get to yours. I'm going to Howler's Peak."  
  
"Have fun," Lili said with what she imagined to be a sultry pout.  
  
------------------------------  
  
Late Sunday Night  
  
Police Plaza  
  
-------------------------------  
  
Holly had gone back to work incredibly early. She snatched a couple of hours of sleep, fed Bob, and there she was, back at the Headquarters, looking over the weapons in the armory.  
  
She held up a slimline laser, looking at it with a little awe. Certified LEP officers were allowed to use them, within limits. However, Holly's standing with Internal Affairs was still too shaky for her to be granted the use of higher weapons. The slimline was a beautiful weapon, though -- steely and shiny and coldly efficient. She put it back and looked almost sadly at her trusty old Neutrino 2000. "Maybe someday," she mused.  
  
"God, I hope not." A subdued Administrative Assistant stood in the doorway, looking tired. She tilted her head to the side and hit her temple, knocking foam out of her ears. "Commander wants you in the War Room." She turned and left, foam squidging from her shoes.  
  
"Gah." Holly dropped the slimline lovingly and followed.   
  
As she rounded the corner, a thin warlock smacked into her. "Captain Short! I'm so sorry!" she gasped as she held out a hand.  
  
Holly blinked up, recognizing the warlock's features and strained, tense, pale green eyes. "Oh, you're that field medic, aren't you? Root will want you to come, too." She got to her feet by herself.  
  
"Actually, I... you have visitors. They want you to come to the Tara chute terminal. He said I should give you this." Janisha reached for the chain her Book had hung on. The ruined coin was strung on it now, since her pockets had large holes in them and she didn't have anywhere else to put it. She pulled off the chain with its coin and handed it to Holly.   
  
Holly started, holding the chain blankly, as if Janisha had handed her a dead bogglefish. A look of surprise fought with annoyance and curiousity to gain control of her features. Finally, she grabbed the warlock's hand and dashed off at a breakneck run.  
  
It was a good thing that Janisha was running hot. Otherwise, she'd never be able to keep up.  
  
----------------------------------------------------  
  
And, because I felt like writing some Bob...  
  
------------------------------------------------------  
  
-----------------------  
  
Holly's Apartment  
  
------------------------  
  
Bob the Atlantean Bogglefish was paralyzed with horror.  
  
He had reason to believe that there was a THING in the tank with him.  
  
Bob was not a fish to back down from fear. He was a brave fish, a tough fish, a fish who took whatever life threw at him and fiercely boggled at it until it went away.   
  
He took the courageous course of action by gaping blankly for a while in the opposite direction, finally noticing the THING again, every fiber of his fishy brain falling apart in tiny molecules of shock and surprise and ultimate consternation.  
  
He decided to ignore it. If he didn't look at the THING, it wouldn't look at him.  
  
The THING just sat there. It was only seaweed, and seaweed has never been very good at conversations. There's always the Babbling Seaweed of the Atlantis Shelf, which constantly repeats a phrase that sounds like "Pickles, kumquats and a dead whale," but this seaweed was not Babbling Seaweed. It was ordinary seaweed, and it sat quietly in the water.  
  
Bob gave it a stealthy look out of the corner of his eyes.  
  
IT was testing him.  
  
Well, he would get the better of IT. He Contemplated the Ceiling, reveling religiously in its complex Mysteries. He would ignore it, and lull it into a false sense of security. Then, when it was properly lulled, he could move in for the boggle.   
  
Bob settled himself to wait it out.  
  
It was going to be a long wait.  
  
-------------------------------  
  
Howler's Peak  
  
-------------------------------  
  
Opal sighed as she left off IM-ing to talk with Takaban. "Yes, I can do that," she sighed when he had finished his proposal. Her fingers rattled along the keyboard. "Poor Foaly. He thinks he got rid of me. You really have to wonder how someone so smart can be so stupid."  
  
With a little chuckle, Opal disabled a certain computer program. Foaly's pride meant that he only made one copy of this vital program, and he wasn't going to let anyone else copy it. Frond forbid they try to pirate his precious program and pass it off as their own technological breakthrough.  
  
Of course, by now everyone had heard several times about Foaly's genius and how his pioneer program had saved hundreds of lives and made the LEP's work a lot easier.  
  
But Foaly was still quite jealous of his program, which had just been rendered defunct.  
  
Its name was SCIENCE.  
  
"You've got about half an hour," Opal smiled. "The flare should be coming right on time."  
  
----------------------------  
  
Lower Elements, Haven City  
  
Chute Terminal  
  
----------------------------  
  
Commandant Terryl was deeply annoyed. He'd been shanghaied from his nice home on the West Bank to work overtime at the chute terminal, which was basically empty. Annoyed, he played Solitaire on his computer and waited for customers to snarl at.  
  
Footsteps. He looked up and his heart froze. "Not. You," he gasped, feeling ready to die of apoplexy.  
  
Holly grinned toothily. "Yes. Me. We meet again, Commandant Terryl." She reached into her belt and twirled her buzz baton expertly between her slim fingers. "Once again, on my terms."  
  
"What do you want?" Terryl rasped.  
  
"Oh, I don't know." Holly released Janisha's wrist and the warlock sighed in relief, rubbing circulation back into it. Captain Short leaned casually against the counter. "Want to clean the terminal out again? It should be easy this time. No People."  
  
"Never," Terryl growled.  
  
"Not even for the crazy girly captain?" Holly breathed, leaning forward.  
  
"Never!"  
  
Holly smiled as she powered up her baton. "I've always wanted to do this," she stated cheerfully.  
  
"Captain Short?" the warlock asked dubiously.  
  
"Hold on a minute, intern." Holly held the sparking buzz baton over Terryl's computer. "Give me fifteen minutes of an empty terminal, and I maybe I won't completely destroy all your records."  
  
"Obstruction of transportation," Terryl snapped.  
  
"Obstruction of justice," Holly countered brightly.  
  
"I'll tell my superior."  
  
"Go ahead, you blustering bureaucrat," the medic spoke up suddenly. "He's my father."  
  
Terryl's eyes widened. Holly took advantage of that to sprint to the line of pods. "Shut down the terminal," she called over her shoulder. Breathlessly, Janisha followed.  
  
"Starter chip," Holly shouted. The warlock threw it on ahead and Holly caught it neatly. "Which one is it?"  
  
"The white rental with the broken windshield."  
  
"Ugh." Holly came to a neat halt, noting with pleasure the sudden, total absence of all People in it. "Is your father really--"  
  
"No, he's a senior paramedic," Janisha panted. "He was decorated after the B'wa Kell invasion, though," she added with pride.   
  
"Congratulations," Holly murmured. She wished she could say things like that about her own late father. The only person she had to brag about was her fish. She inserted the starter chip and opened the pod door.  
  
She'd known who would be in there. Still, it was a complete blow to her system to see him there, a faint expectant smile on his face.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here, Fowl?" Holly sighed, feeling oddly glad to see him and Butler there.  
  
Sadly, Artemis's smooth reply was interrupted by an earthquake.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A GRACKLE BY ANY OTHER NAME STILL SMELLS AS SWEET ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ALSO AN ATTEMPT TO RECRUIT CAMEO VOLUNTEERS ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~AND AN ARGUMENT WITH BOB~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Wow. This is uncanny. I actually wrote 2 chapters in one week (though I didn't publish this one immediately. Had to make you wait.) But still, the uncanny-ness is very uncanny. Bob! Worship me!  
  
Bob: o.O (Who are these people? Why are they looking at me? Do I have spinach in my teeth? Do I have teeth?)  
  
I typed all this with a blister burn on my main typing finger. It happened while setting marshmallows on fire. Bob! Feel sorry for me!  
  
Bob: O_O (Can't. Have to avoid seaweed. Very important.)  
  
*sigh* So much for emotional support from Bob here. Don't know how Holly does it.  
  
As the earthquake rattles Haven, I intend it to affect the Netherworld Flamingo as well. Instead of coming up with half a dozen bit-parts, I wondered if anyone would like to help me out by starring a cameo like Kitty did. (Don't worry, your character will not be hurt, except if they burn themselves on flaming marshmallows.) I'd like your help, coming up with Colfer-like names for bit-parts gives me a headache. (I mean, Vice Corporal Fallacy? What was I ON?)  
  
Bob: -.- (I believe, at the time, it was half an hour of sleep and your version of Trouble's Drink.)  
  
*blink* Ah yes. It all comes back to me now. My email is caspian_scholar@hotmail.com if you're interested.  
  
Bob: O.* (WAIT! WAIT! STOP THE PRESS! I think my brain exploded! Hold on... I have a brain? Why doesn't anyone tell me these things?) (lapses into confused and fishy silence)  
  
PS Mage Kitty and Maiden Genisis. Your emails aren't working! How do I deal with this? Why is this happening to me? Why me? Why now? What do I do? TELL ME! *breaks down completely, sobbing and clutching a pillow wet with tears*  
  
Bob: -.0 (Time for your medication...)  
  
Oh, shut up, you silly fish. (throws pillow)  
  
Bob: ~.~ (That was uncalled for. Help. Help. I'm being repressed.)  
  
|  
  
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v 


	10. Where Angels Fear to Tread

--------------------------------------  
  
Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files  
  
By Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
Chapter Ten: Where Angels Fear to Tread  
  
"Everybody wants to rule the world.  
  
It's my own design  
  
It's my own remorse  
  
Help me to decide  
  
Help me make the most  
  
Of freedom and of pleasure  
  
Nothing ever lasts forever  
  
Everybody wants to rule the world.  
  
There's a room where the light won't find you  
  
Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down  
  
When they do I'll be right behind you.  
  
So glad we've almost made it  
  
So sad they had to fade it  
  
Everybody wants to rule the world."  
  
--"Everybody Wants to Rule the World" by Tears for Fears  
  
===================================================================  
  
Thanks to the great people who volunteered themselves and others for cameo roles. They are, in order of appearance,  
  
Kitty Rainbow as................................. KITTY, Bartender  
  
IntriKate (formerly spider-elf) as.......... IVY, Reporter/Journalist  
  
Ophelia who is insane as.................... OPHELIA, Drinks Mixer  
  
Maiden Genisis as.............................. MEL THORN, Chef  
  
slime frog as....................................... BRYONY, Lead Vocalist, Waitress  
  
Tie Kerl as.......................................... TIE, Guitarist, Fish Feeder, Parrot Expert  
  
Crazygirly007 as.................................. Y'LIME, Guitarist, Waitress  
  
(Her bogglefish Horatio as).................. HIMSELF, A Bogglefish  
  
Nyghtvision as.................................... CASPIAN, Proprietor  
  
Ophelia's Friend Leo as....................... HIMSELF, A Friend  
  
The Original as .................................. GWYNETH, Happy Coffee-Drinking Girl  
  
====================================================================  
  
SCIENCE was the flare-prediction program that Foaly kept so jealously. Besides predicting to one-tenths of a second when the next deadly magma flare would occur, it controlled the thermal sensors in the chutes that in turn controlled the massive six-foot-thick doors. The massive six-foot-thick doors protected the chute terminal from the superheated magma.  
  
Now all of SCIENCE was down and out for the proverbial count.  
  
-----------------------------  
  
Netherworld Flamingo  
  
-----------------------------  
  
Ivy the reporter looked around with raised eyebrows from her place at the bar. Chaos, sheer, inedible chaos, rocking and roller-blading in every direction as far as she could see. "On a Sunday night in July," she wrote on her pad, then thought better of it and crossed it out. She winced as the very unmusical voices of a renowned psychologist and an illustrious psychiatrist butchered the chords of a song on the karaoke stage. "... Apparently Doctors Cumulus and Argon have even larger egos than we thought," Ivy scribbled in the margins.  
  
"It's mah OWN desiiiire.... it's mah OWN remorse... EVeryBOdy WANTS to RUle the World..." Cumulus and Argon caterwauled, while the band members behind them looked on with pained expressions on their faces.   
  
"Who told the shrinks that they could sing?" muttered a gremlin, tapping the bartop with his fingernail. He blew a puff of smoke off his fungal cigarette and eyed his sandwich suspiciously. "Hey, you!" he shouted at a passing waitress.  
  
The young female turned, her blonde hair swinging around her pointed ears. "Ophelia," she sighed, absently catching a Random Parrot as it fell out of the sky.  
  
"Yeah, Ophelia. Why is my sandwich wiggling?" The gremlin pointed to his sandwich, which had grayish, writhing tentacles emerging from the crust. He prodded it carefully.   
  
"Eee!" the sandwich protested. A tentacle reached up and slapped the gremlin in the face.  
  
He looked at the waitress accusingly. "Is this some kind of joke?"  
  
"That's our new Cuttlefish Burger," Ophelia said brightly, throwing the parrot back over her shoulder. "It's very popular with Atlantean tourists. As you can see..." the waitress continued, peeling off the top piece of bread, "The cuttlefish is very fresh ... and ... wriggling. Very healthy!" she enthused.  
  
The tentacles reached up and felt around for the piece of bread. It covered itself with the bread, settled around until it felt comfortable, and went limp again.  
  
"Everybody wants to rule the world..." the Singing Shrinks continued obliviously.  
  
"How do I eat it?" the gremlin deadpanned, twitching his fungal cigarette.  
  
Ophelia shrugged. "I don't know. I'm the drinks mixer. Pan-Galactic Gargleblaster?" she offered, holding up a smoking bottle of acid-green liquid.  
  
"I want to talk to the chef," the gremlin growled. "I'm a respected LEPretrieval officer. You can't expect me to eat a live squid." He stubbed the cigarette out on the bartop and glowered at her, looking strangely like Julius Root.  
  
Ophelia sighed and disappeared behind the kitchen doors, which were painted to resemble nothing on this earth. "Mel... there's a Code Yellow out on the bar..."  
  
A few seconds later, an elf emerged, twirling a frying pan in her fingers. Her silver-streaked brown hair was held back in a ponytail, and her eyes were dangerous. "I've been told you insulted my cuttlefish!"  
  
The gremlin pointed to the sandwich, which was slowly but steadily crawling off the plate. "It's alive."  
  
"It's fresh!" the chef protested, stuffing the tentacles back under the crust. The sandwich squeaked in annoyance and curled up sulkily. "A fresh cuttlefish a day keeps away, um, hoof-and-mouth disease." She nodded emphatically, and the blue ribbon holding her ponytail was promptly stolen by a parrot.  
  
"Kitty," Ivy called out in warning, looking up from her notepad. "Don't look now, but a sandwich is stalking you."  
  
Kitty set down the hissing bottle of gurgling pink liquid that she was creating chemical reactions with. Stealthily, she peered out of the corners of her eyes. Dragging itself along by its tentacles, the sandwich crept closer and closer. "Only in the Netherworld," she announced as a tentacle snaked out from under the bread and swiped a bar coaster, tucking it under the bread with an air of triumph. Carefully she picked it up, ignoring the angry squeaks, and set it next to Mel.  
  
There was a blindingly quick THWAP, and a startled squeak. The sandwich twitched once and then lay still. Mel smiled triumphantly, tossing the frying pan up in the air. "Enjoy your sandwich!" she encouraged, turning around and walking away. The frying pan fell neatly back into the elf's hands as she sauntered back into the kitchen.  
  
The gremlin's mouth worked soundlessly for a few minutes. "Girls these days," he muttered finally.  
  
Meanwhile, Ivy had been chucked out of the bar by an angry gang of dwarves, for reasons best left to the dwarves. The reporter sighed as she untaped a hole in the wall from the B'wa Kell invasion. She slipped back into the bar, taping the hole behind her. "There are other ways of skinning a swear toad..."  
  
Up on the stage, the three staff members, who were also part-time band members, gave each other tired looks.  
  
"I can't stand it anymore," Bryony announced, glaring at Dr. J. Argon. She was a small fairy with brightly colored hair and an unpredictable nature. Besides being a waitress, she was the lead vocalist, and wasn't too happy that some nasal-voiced quack had swiped her wireless microphone. "Are you guys ready?"  
  
"Been ready," replied Tie, the electric guitarist, with an ever-so-slightly demented gleam in his blue eyes.  
  
"Nothing ever lasts forever, everybody wants to rule the world..."  
  
Y'lime, waitress and guitarist, leaned towards a nearby fishtank. "Horatio?"  
  
The bogglefish stared back at her in astonishment. Strangely enough, the fish wore a red clown nose and a rainbow clown wig.   
  
Y'lime nodded decisively, unstrapping her guitar. "We're ready."  
  
The three band members leaped forward and tackled the singing psychiatrist.  
  
"Tie, go get Joe!" Bryony screamed as she attempted to hold down the writhing fairy. The guitarist took off like a rocket into the crowd of People, who were all cheering and clapping as the psychiatrist screamed at the indignity.  
  
Meanwhile, Caspian, the Random Owner, was giving CPR to a bird. One of the Random Parrots had flown into a glass squid, and now it wasn't breathing. She grabbed the limp parrot and ran into the kitchen, screaming. "Medical emergency! Let me through!"  
  
Kitty ran out of the kitchen, screaming "Fire in the hole!"  
  
Smoke poured out of the double doors. Caspian skidded into Kitty, fell against the door, and toppled backwards into the kitchen. Mel Thorn was beating out the flames with her frying pan, while Ophelia's friend Leo frantically tried to untangle an ancient fire hose that hung from the ceiling. Caspian staggered to her feet, dropping the parrot, and grabbed a large, wet squid that just happened to be lying on the counter. She began to beat the flames back with the squid.  
  
Ivy skidded in, panting and clutching her notebook. The journalist took no notice of the flaming stove -- an angry mob of tunnel gnomes was on her tail. Ivy whipped open a nearby dishwasher, and hid inside.  
  
Kitty charged back in with a gallon of glowing liquid and threw it over the fire.  
  
WHOOMPH.  
  
A moment later, the staff looked at the smoldering ruins of the stove with resigned looks. Kitty felt her eyebrows to make sure they weren't burned off. Leo stood entangled in several feet of fat yellow fire hose, looking slightly shell-shocked. Mel quickly dropped her red-hot frying pan into the sink, and a cloud of steam mingled with the odd-smelling purple smoke. Ivy opened the dishwasher, blinked, looked around, shrugged, and tiptoed back into the bar. Caspian looked pitifully at the burnt, limp squid in her hands.   
  
"How do we explain this to the insurance company?"   
  
"We don't HAVE an insurance company anymore, remember? They ditched us after the squirrel incident."  
  
"A real disaster, that was."  
  
"We did not give matches to the SQUIRREL," Mel reminded everyone. "We gave matches to the CHIPMUNK. You'd think they'd be a little more understanding."  
  
Ophelia came in with a dinner order and raised a calm, unruffled eyebrow at the melted appliance, the weirdly purple smoke, and the smell of smoked squid. Her green eyes landed on her boyfriend. "Leo, what did you do?"  
  
Her boyfriend shook his head slowly, staring at the lump of ashes, still not ready to speak.  
  
Meanwhile, back at the bar...  
  
Gwyneth, a regular customer and distant relative of Caspian's, was inhaling coffee at an amazing rate. Y'lime was on duty behind the bar, leaning on her elbows and staring in fascination as the auburn-haired elf added several packets of sugar to the muddy-looking black liquid and dropped in a coffee stirrer. Gwyneth pulled the stirrer out, noting its charred appearance, and the fact that it was partially eaten away, as if it had been dipped in acid. She nodded once. "Perfect."  
  
Y'lime shrugged. "Drink fast. It's eating away at the cup." She ducked under the bar and pulled out a jar of aspirin, swallowing a few with a glass of straight grenadine. Dr. Argon's singing had given her a Class A migraine.  
  
Her bogglefish, Horatio, gulped up at her with an expression of fishy disbelief. Y'lime smiled at her fish and offered him an aspirin. After much boggling (What IS that? Food? Grackle? Lawnmower?) Horatio accidentally ate it. The look on his face was priceless. A sort of scrunched-up, incredulous goggle.  
  
This prompted Y'lime to hold his tank aloft and proclaim, in a Shakespeare-esque way, "There are more things on Heaven and Earth, Horatio..."  
  
The fish gave her a clueless, yet worshipful look.  
  
Somewhere by the dinner booths, Ivy was interviewing a member of the Atlantean Coucil, when the tunnel gnomes spotted her and she had to leap behind the nearest glowing squirrel statue. She burned a lot of calories when she was fleeing for her life, but it came with the territory.  
  
Gwyneth finished her coffee and looked hopefully at Y'lime. However, the waitress had whipped out her guitar and was now composing a song on the spot about bogglefish. Taking a quick look around, Gwyneth vaulted over the bartop, swiping the coffeepot.  
  
"You shouldn't do that, missy," the crusty gremlin snorted. "The bouncer'll have ya out like a swear toad on a hot tin roof."  
  
Gwyneth settled her cats-eye glasses on her nose. "I'm the fifth cousin by re-marriage twice removed of the grandmother of the management's dad. Blood runs thicker than coffee."  
  
"Girls these days," the gnome snorted, moving farther down the bar.  
  
Bryony came pelting out of the staff room, holding her microphone. Her frog-bright hair was sprinkled with dazzlingly colored parrot feathers, giving her a psychedelic look. She took a few deep warm-up breaths and threw back her head. "HAPPY HOUR IS OVER!" she bellowed musically. Then she went into a nearby corner and hid there.  
  
With sighs and grumblings, most of the customers got up and left, the more unsteady ones assisted by Joe the Bouncer. Trouble Kelp, Ivy and Gwyneth were the only ones who stayed. Gwyneth because she was having an animated conversation with Horatio about Fuzzy Math, whatever that was, Ivy because she was, well, Ivy, and Trouble because he was feeling depressed.   
  
The Captain didn't want to go home -- precious little welcome there. He looked despondently at his new flyswatter and hoped Grub hadn't been eaten by a rampaging fungus. Then he sighed, remembering the usual state of Grub's bedroom, which bred mushrooms and molds like a biology experiment gone terribly wrong. The intelligent fungi would probably proclaim Grub their god, and would follow him around on their mushroomy feet, somewhat like the pagan pygmies in all those old Mud movies. Trouble laughed a little wildly and poked at his salad, which seemed to be built out of old lobster parts. It was delicious, but too strange looking to eat seriously.  
  
"Trub, do you want Joe to take you home?" Kitty asked in some concern, leaning over his shoulder.  
  
"No." He poked his salad and watched in absent interest as a carapace and a claw skidded off the plate.  
  
"Well, can I take your salad away, then?" Kitty gently attempted to remove the plate, but pulled back her hands quickly as Trouble stabbed at it with his fork.  
  
"No, that's okay. Can I have the usual again?"  
  
"I don't know if that's a good idea," Kitty began, then ducked as Trouble lunged at his plate with the fork. Two legs and a lobster tail went flying past her pointed ear. She raised her hands in surrender and backed away slowly. "Right then."  
  
The staff gathered around the emptied bar for their own amusement, except for Joe, who went underneath the stage and Lurked there. Ivy reappeared, settled down on a bar stool, and began organizing her notes -- a task made more difficult by the mated pair of Random Parrots who wanted to make a nest with the exciting-looking papers. Bryony lay across several bar stools, balancing a spoon on her pointed nose while drinking something strange through a long novelty straw. Y'lime slung her guitar over her shoulder and began teaching Horatio how to read Spanish. Horatio blinked and looked cross-eyed at the red clown nose on his snout. Gwyneth had found a pogo stick somewhere, and was pogo-ing around the bar.   
  
Mel Thorn fed the fish in the massive wall tanks, staring at the bogglefish, muttering something about "Ketchup" and giggling quietly to herself. Ophelia and her friend Leo were cheerfully drinking each other under the table with Pan-Galactic Gargleblasters. Tie wandered around with a six-pack of Coke, staring off into space with a slightly rabid expression and occasionally nodding in a very evil way. And Caspian was attempting to resuscitate the Random Parrot. All in all, a normal, well-adjusted bunch of young fairies.  
  
"That parrot is dead," Tie announced, looking over Caspian's shoulder.  
  
"No he isn't, he's stunned!" Caspian protested, poking the bird in the chest.  
  
"He's dead, Caspian. If he wasn't on the bartop he'd be pushing up daisies."  
  
"He can't be dead..." Bryony sat up, the spoon flying off her nose. "He's probably very tired and shagged out following his stirring rendition of 'The Knights who say Ni.'"  
  
"Look, Bry, I know a dead parrot when I see one," Tie contradicted, for the sheer sport of it. "I have a parrot, you know..."  
  
"Is your parrot dead?" Gwyneth asked.  
  
"Not currently."  
  
"Well then how would you know?" Gwyneth finished happily.  
  
"Because he's a very good actor," Tie said after a second. "There, I've run rings around you, logically."  
  
"How do--"  
  
"He's not dead!" Caspian protested.  
  
Ivy gave up trying to put her notes together and clipped them shut in her binder. She glanced over at the Parrot and bit her lip. "It's... looking rather limp, Caspian."  
  
Mel Thorn jumped up suddenly and ran into the kitchen. She returned with a nice specimen of cuttlefish. "Here, Random Parrot, I've got a lovely fresh cuttlefish for you if you wake up!"  
  
No answer. The parrot looked about as active as a dishrag. A very old, wet, limp dishrag.  
  
"He'd make a very nice lawn decoration," Y'lime offered, feeding Horatio a piece of cracker.  
  
"Perhaps he's drunk," Leo spoke up for the first time.  
  
"Perhaps he's dead," Tie suggested optimistically, picking the bird up by one stiff foot. "..."  
  
"There! Look! He moved!" Kitty said happily.  
  
"No he didn't, that was you poking him."  
  
"..." Tie continued.  
  
Y'lime popped back up with "Oh, oh, I know! He's got epilepsy."  
  
"That's insane..."  
  
"No it isn't, it's crazy. There is a difference," Y'lime insisted.  
  
Ivy nodded thoughtfully and wrote something down. No one was entirely sure why.  
  
Ophelia came over and picked up the parrot. She tossed it into the air. Everyone watched it plummet to the floor. "Now that's what I call a dead parrot."  
  
There was a strange grumbling, trembling noise, as if some giant was clearing their throat. Everyone looked up as the glass squid hanging from the ceiling shook back and forth.  
  
"EARTHQUAKE!" screamed the Random Parrot, which had miraculously revived. There was no time for the staff to rejoice, for the power went out with a horrible snap, and the whole ground tilted beneath them.  
  
"Didn't do it," somebody muttered sardonically before a beam collapsed.  
  
  
  
--------------------------  
  
Lower Elements  
  
--------------------------  
  
Not even the B'wa Kell Riots had taken such a toll on the city. Those out on the streets dashed for cover. Spitefully, the cover fell out onto the streets. The streets cracked and buckled and groaned, buildings trembled, windows broke.   
  
The Standard Random Mother dashed past, clutching her Bundled-Up Baby and screaming.  
  
In Downtown Haven, Spud's Spud Emporium trembled like a living creature. Underground buildings are usually anchored at both ends, with a foundation in the ground and supports to the vast underground sky of Haven. Spud's detached from the ceiling and listed crazily to the side, then buckled and simply fell apart. Panicked employees and customers dashed out onto the cracking streets, diving for shelter in all directions.  
  
The Standard Random Mother dashed past again. "AAAAAH!"  
  
The photo booth that had sheltered the Kelp brothers during the B'wa Kell invasion fell apart for the second time.   
  
Miraculously, the Netherworld Flamingo was relatively unhurt.  
  
Everything else was a disaster.  
  
---------------------------------------  
  
Shuttleport and Chute Terminal  
  
---------------------------------------  
  
The earth tremor knocked Holly to her hands and knees. She flipped to her feet and stared in horror. Through the massive, open chute doors, she could see a red glow approaching. Heat saturated her body. The ground shook. The pressure rose. A horribly familiar roar built up.  
  
The doors were not closing.  
  
Holly looked around frantically. The shuttleport was empty, as she had requested, except for one gnome. He stood blankly at his desk, staring at the column of approaching magma.  
  
"COMMANDANT TERRYL!" she screamed, beckoning frantically. Without waiting to see if he was coming, Holly spun around and slapped Artemis out of his restraining harness. "Butler, get Artemis out of here! Intern! Snap out of it! We have to move!"   
  
Butler, supremely calm in a crisis, picked up the mastermind like a small child, slipped out of the rental pod, and followed Holly. Janisha staggered to her feet and sprinted after them.  
  
Holly's chest heaved as the heat made it harder and harder to breathe. The approaching flare would be upon them in a matter of seconds. The magma probably wouldn't make it past the doors, but there was always the problem of the killer heat. There were no coolant tanks here in the terminal, since the doors were supposed to protect it. And the doors remained stuck open... There was no way the group could escape the massive terminal in time... Oh, Frond, oh, Frond... No time...  
  
"Holly?" Artemis's cool, clear voice broke through her frenzied thoughts. "Can you pick your way into one of these?" He flicked his pale fingers at the long lines of empty shuttles, eggs and pods that surrounded them. "With a fast vehicle, we could outrun it..."  
  
Holly broke out into a wild grin. "So you are good for something, Mud Boy." She leaped forward, scanning the vehicles with frantic eyes. No time, no time... there! That was it!   
  
A titanium LEP fighter pod, sleek and dangerous with a nose like a needle. Holly had no time to wonder what a military vehicle was doing in the terminal. The intense heat grew even worse. As she worked frantically at opening the door, the scorching metal burned her hands. Janisha sucked in a breath as the orange light of magma appeared in the door.  
  
No time. No time...  
  
Holly flung open the pod door. "GET IN!" she screamed at the group. Butler was the only one who reacted. He grabbed Artemis and the medic and flung them into the shuttle, leaping into the backseat. Holly looked around one last time. Commandant Terryl was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Janisha could feel the heat searing her eyeballs. She and Holly would be all right. They were fairies, they would probably outlast the humans by a few minutes. But the oven had scorched Artemis's pale skin. Instinctively her hand went to the teen's shoulder, healing sparks springing to action even though her mind was still baking in the heat.  
  
No time.  
  
Holly leaped gracefully into the cockpit, pulling the blistering hot door closed. She slammed the control panel with her hand. "Computer, emergency override. Authorization Captain Short. Alpha omega one zero one. Start up... please..."  
  
Holly gasped in pure relief as the shuttle hummed to life. There was no time for delicacy. She activated the bottom boosters and shot clear of the line of vehicles, slamming towards the terminal roof. Even in the titanium shuttle the heat was painfully intense.   
  
The lava spilled and oozed. The ceiling cracked under the enormous pressure and heat.  
  
No time.  
  
Holly cracked a smile. Hey, she'd been flare riding since she had her license. This was her thing.  
  
Plenty of time.  
  
She switched on the air-conditioning to full blast.  
  
The heat surged forward, distortting everything in its path. The air itself boiled. All moisture was stripped away. Silver's purple eyebrows shot up as her rental pod was blistered, cracked and melted by the sheer heat. "Oh, Frond," she muttered. Her hand reached up to clutch the Book that wasn't there. It was a comfort thing.  
  
"Holly?" Butler questioned anxiously as the heat grew even more unbearable. It was a rather amusing sight to see Butler anxious. It was also rather amusing to see the way his massive frame filled in all the extra space in the back, with Artemis and Janisha squeezed into the last seat. "Shouldn't we be getting out of here?"  
  
Her smile grew. This was easy stuff. "Aw, is the big nasty Butler scared of a little melted rock?" Holly thrust forward on the joystick and her passengers were flung against their seats. The fighter shuttle went from zero to ninety in an instant, the shuttleport blurring past incoherently. The G-forces pulled Holly's face back, an unsettling feeling.  
  
Within seconds they had crossed the vast empty space of the terminal, and the huge front doors loomed ahead of them. Behind them crawled the massive ooze of lava, glowing a deep and menacing orange. It was the biggest flare she had ever seen. Lava didn't usually get that far.  
  
Holly smirked. "I've always wanted to do this," she stated to no one in particular, leaning forward on the edge of her seat. The molded joystick thrummed comfortably in her hands. She concentrated the needle-like, diamond-tipped nose of the fighter on the center of the glass.   
  
"Isn't that stuff rocketproof?" Silver squeaked, packed in between Artemis and the wall.  
  
"Yep," Holly answered as if it didn't really bother her. She slammed on the boosters, and with a grin like a pyro in a fireworks shop, lifted a glass lid on the control panel. Underneath the lid was the Classical Big Red Button with DO NOT PRESS written next to it in big pleading letters.  
  
"Why do they bother?" Holly asked rhetorically, pressing the button.   
  
Artemis, squeezed between Butler and the medic, adjusted his safety harness and tried not to whimper.  
  
There was a massive explosion, and twin rockets shot out of the torpedo bay of the shuttle. For an instant, they were caught between fire and fire. The rockets shot ahead, the magma roared behind. Holly gunned forward and burst through the weakened glass like a parakeet from a cannon.   
  
The fighter shuttle hovered above the streets of Haven. It was like being in a canyon with the tall buildings rooted to the almost infinite underground ceiling. Artemis and Butler could do little but gape. After all, they had never seen it before.  
  
They had made it.  
  
Holly smirked again, turning back to face her pale, gaping passengers. "And that's why--"  
  
CRRRAAAA-SCREEEEEECH------  
  
A sudden earth tremor cut off her words. The office building next to them trembled and shook, pulling loose from its top anchoring. Holly wasted a nanosecond staring at it blankly. Then she flipped the fighter sideways and shot forward. The glass from breaking windows poured down around them like rain as the huge building pitched forward, looming over the fighter as if it was a great tidal wave breaking over a tiny little surfer. Office furniture flew out of the emptied windows and cascaded down towards the fighter shuttle.  
  
Pens, desks, chairs, potted plants, computers, glow cubes, books, figuirines of random animals showered around them like a very strange and random rainfall. Thankfully, the building had been evacuated, as no pixies and gnomes were splattering down on the shuttle's main windows.  
  
Holly was in her element. Flip to the side, avoid the potted petunias, dodge the I-beam, don't fly into the falling couch. It was weird but fun. She breezed out of harm's way as the building crashed and crumbled and collapsed behind them. She spun the fighter on a dime and smiled at the disaster she had just missed.  
  
"-- I'm the best pilot they've got," Holly finished her sentence enthusiastically.  
  
Artemis unbuckled himself and wriggled out with all possible dignity from between Silver and Butler. Like a prince ascending to his throne, he settled down in the co-pilot seat and strapped in with an air of finality. He'd be getting all of Holly's flygirl stunts up his nose, but at least he wouldn't be stuck in such an undignified position between the manservant and the medic. "You know, Holly, I could swear you're enjoying this."  
  
"Oh, I am." Holly neatly turned the shuttle around. Above her, awful groans and creaks signified that another of Haven's proud and beautiful buildings was going to collapse. "The flying part," she added quickly. "Not the destruction." She gunned forward and out of the path of the next disaster.  
  
"What's happening?" Janisha spoke up suddenly, folding her arms across her chest.  
  
"Apparently your flare sensors have been disabled," Artemis answered her. He was unable to keep the condescending tone out of his voice. "The tremors are most likely occuring because Haven's bedrock is expanding with the heat."  
  
"They shouldn't," Holly frowned. "We have all kinds of preventions. Electronic sensors, internal gyroscopes, deep-set automatic coolant tanks, balancer fields..."  
  
"Most of which were electronic? Easy to override."  
  
"Override?" Holly's voice rose. "What do you mean, override?"  
  
Artemis sighed, as if he couldn't believe the preschoolers he was putting up with. "Has your equipment shown any signs of malfunction? Haven't you weathered several flares a day for centuries? Don't you think Foaly would have noticed if vital programs were disconnected?"  
  
"He would have noticed if somebody hacked into them!" Holly shouted, leaning towards him aggressively.   
  
"A hacker with enough intelligence to break into the system would most likely know enough to cover their tracks!" Artemis snapped, leaning forward as well. They were practically forehead to forehead.  
  
Butler and the medic glanced rapidly back and forth between the arguers as the conversation up front escalated into an argument. Holly gritted her teeth. "And how do you figure this? Are you the hacker? I thought you reformed but I wouldn't put it past you."  
  
"And let myself be caught in the flare? Brilliant deduction, Holly. Why, it would have taken me all of half a microsecond to completely discard that idea. Your grasp of logic is truly--"   
  
Artemis never saw it coming. Holly drew back her fist and socked him mightily between the eyes. Enraged, Butler lunged forward, forgetting his safety harness. It snapped him back, but he caught Holly's hand. "Captain Short--"  
  
"He deserved it, though, didn't he?"   
  
Butler thought about it and relaxed, giving her back her fist. He kept the stern look on his face. After all, Artemis Fowl was his charge. "Yes, but that's no reason to -- you can't just-- I can't let you -- is that the second time you've done that to him?"  
  
"Third, I believe." Holly looked at her fist, and back at the stunned Artemis. "He brings out the worst in me."  
  
"I don't think your worst is so bad," Artemis said with a dazed, completely uncharacteristic grin.  
  
"You know, when he's half knocked out, he looks like a normal kid," Silver chipped in. She held out her index finger and touched the huge, nasty, lump and bruise forming between his eyes. When she pulled it away, Artemis looked himself again. Cool, unemotional, and vaguely annoyed.   
  
Janisha held her hand towards Butler. "You've got some scorching from the heat. I can take care of it, or you can keep suffering in silence," she offered.  
  
"So. Who do you think took over our system?" Holly asked as if nothing had happened. She palmed the shuttle a little closer to the ceiling and let it hover.  
  
"Not necessarily the whole system. Perhaps a few key components." Artemis gestured around the damaged city. "My guess, of course, is the same person that tried to do the same thing a while ago. Opal Koboi. Yet there are some strange things about this whole scenario." He dropped his hands to his lap and looked out the opposite window, leaving Holly staring at the back of his head.  
  
"Great," she muttered after a minute. Apparently her famed Holly Short Stare of Death was not actually physically penetrative.  
  
She kicked the speed into full throttle, throwing her passengers back into their seats. "I think our next stop should be Foaly's little domain."  
  
---------------------------------  
  
"Foaly's Little Domain"  
  
Police Plaza  
  
---------------------------------  
  
"Gih! Ganyping!" The centaur galloped around madly, gibbering, flailing, and doing everything short of frothing at the mouth. "Gnabsnash! Yurtl! Gih hibbity GNAAAH!" He charged at an abandoned desk, wheeled around, and gave it a shattering blow with his back hooves. "Jheeby jheeby jhiv..." He collapsed in a tangle of hooves and legs and arms, cradled his head, and had a small breakdown.  
  
The LEP Headquarters had recently been triple-reinforced, so that in times of trouble and strife, it could become a sort of fortress. It had stayed intact, and the tremors had done minimal damage. A few lamps were broken, an Atlantean Bogglefish belonging to a Recon officer died of a heart attack, and a small espresso machine had, for reasons unknown, self-destructed.  
  
However, the suicide of the espresso machine was not what was driving Foaly - literally- up the wall.   
  
It was the fact that someone had foiled him again, and he couldn't do anything about it.  
  
-------------------------------  
  
Streets of Haven  
  
-------------------------------  
  
"There. Go," Takaban told his headset. Some distance away, Corporal Lili Frond nodded and smoothed her uniform over her hips. She pulled back her curls and took a deep breath.   
  
"I can do this. I am supreme. I am confident. I am a Frond." Reciting mantras under her breath, Lili slipped through the crowded streets, dodging terrified fairies who were fleeing their ruined homes, screaming, milling about, and generally getting in the way. Standard Civilian Behavior, Chapter Six, Paragraph One, How to React in the Event of Disaster. Here and there an LEP officer was frantically directing civilians into reinforced buildings. Lili kept her head down so she wouldn't be recognized.  
  
The Random Mother bolted past, almost running Lili down. She clutched her baby to her chest and screamed. "AAAAAHH!"  
  
Lili blinked and kept going.   
  
The Medical Ward was on Police Plaza, and the security was tight. However, no one was present to enforce it. Alarms were going off everywhere as buildings trembled and shook, and the LEP were busy with other things. Lili pulled out her buzz baton and crashed it against a first floor window. Immediately, a whooping siren sounded, and was lost in the din. The blonde corporal heaved herself through the windowsill, broken glass crunching underfoot.  
  
"I'm in, sir," she said into her helmet.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Howler's Peak  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Opal growled in annoyance as an IM popped up on her computer. She sent off the floorplans for the Medical Ward and got back to work on the co-fic she was planning with her new best friend.  
  
"Lord of the Rings meets WrestleBox 2000 -- SLASH. NC-17. Illegal use of poodles. Perfect grammar and spelling. R&R."  
  
A girl had to keep her priorities straight.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
Haven Medical Ward  
  
----------------------------------  
  
The floorplans flashed up on Lili's helmet. She broke into a jog, starting towards the staircase.   
  
Suddenly the floor shook beneath her and she barely managed to stay up. This was not her thing. She would rather be anywhere else but there. As Lili pressed onwards, she spotted a warlock fleeing towards her. He recognized the LEP seal on her helmet and skidded to a halt.  
  
"Corporal. What's going on? We're losing power-- the patients are terrified--"  
  
"Medic, this is a Code Red emergency," Lili said with all the authority she could muster. "I need you to take me to Basement Six."  
  
"That's a restricted area, what are you talking about, shouldn't we be evacuating?" the warlock asked, Gift-blue eyes full of total confusion. Lili had to fight to keep a flirty grin off her face. He was cute, if you liked blue. Blue hair, blue eyes, blue-gray skin.   
  
"Medic... orders are orders. Let's go," she demanded.  
  
Still looking confused, the warlock led her down the quivering stairs.  
  
"Take me to Lab 42," Lili continued.  
  
The warlock stopped dead and shook his head, something like terror sparking in those bright blue eyes. "I can't," he said firmly. "I'm not even supposed to be down here."  
  
Lili couldn't help it, she dimpled up at him for a moment before remembering business.   
  
"You can," she sighed, "And you will." With one smooth motion drew the modified human handgun from her belt. With another smooth motion, she completely lost her balance and dropped it. Lili cleared her throat as she picked up the gun and loaded the white beads of ammunition into it. "All right, cutie," she smiled. "Let's go. I don't want to ruin that pretty face if I don't have to."  
  
The medic looked down at her blankly. "What--"  
  
"Slow to catch on," Lili sighed. Regretfully, she pulled the trigger. The little white bead hit the warlock straight in the neck. He gave a sharp little cry, which Lili found adorable, and clapped his hand to the wound.   
  
It should have healed instantly. Warlocks are possibly the most Gifted of the fairies. But when the medic pulled his hand away, drops of red blood stood out strangely against his dolphin-gray skin. The pain in his throat numbed and began to spread, seeming to drain him completely.  
  
"Lab 42?" Lili prodded gently, an odd little smile on her bright red lips.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A REALLY LONG RANT WHICH YOU PROBABLY DON'T WANT TO BOTHER READING BUT YOU CAN IF YOU REALLY REALLY WANT TO~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Huge thanks to the cast of fans who unselfishly volunteered to do cameos! This was one of the hardest chapters to write, but also the funnest. (Yes, 'funnest' is a word. Because I said so.) To all of the people who volunteered, and for the others who offered their wonderful support, I offer a huge and heartfelt thanks. I am sorry if this chapter was a little disjointed, but it was also what -- 40 kbs? -- to make up for it.  
  
Thanks to everyone, I am very well aware that Butler's first name is Domovoi. Damn that Colfer! Going behind my back again! Stealing all my ideas! I swear the man is spying on me! Maybe he's reading this to get ideas from... GO AWAY, EOIN COLFER! Stop stalking me!  
  
Bob: O.O (Who's Colfer?)  
  
Never mind, Bob... nothing to do with you. Well, anyway, mine was actually published first, so feh to him. Domovoi Jacques Butler. Because I said so. Maybe I'll get TEC for my birthday which is coming up... That would be cool.   
  
Bob: ^_^ (I'm famous!)  
  
Oh, yeah. Bob's famous! If you ever wanted to know who the rest of Bob's family are ... queenstheif's fic has all the answers. And if you want to know how Holly got Bob... Maiden Genisis has written a great fic about that. Plus, the Netherworld Flamingo has its own website, which is really pathetic so do not even bother visiting it. It's embarrassing. Instead, go find IntriKate's story "Tales from the Netherworld Flamingo" which is where Ivy the reporter comes from. So? Go read those! Because my next update may take a bit.  
  
Bob: ^_____^ *waves fin* (I love my fans)  
  
(Sigh...) Now look, he's getting a swelled head. Not that you'd notice...  
  
PS The Original -- your email isn't working 


	11. Je Suis Triste

----------------------------  
  
Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files  
  
By Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
-----------------------------  
  
Chapter Eleven: Je Suis Triste  
  
"Put Artemis Fowl and Holly Short togetber in a room, and sooner or later there was bound to be a fight." -- "Artemis Fowl: The Eternity Code"  
  
"Here we are now going to the west side  
  
Weapons in hand as we go for a ride  
  
Some may come and some may stay  
  
Watching out for a sunny day where there's  
  
Love and darkness and my sidearm  
  
Hey, élan, élan."  
  
"South Side," by Moby  
  
===============================================================  
  
Warnings to Impressionable Readers: Earthquakes, Grub Kelp and Vice Corporal Fallacy, Wrenchingly Suspenseful Bob Scene, Foaly Referred to as Man-Slut, Tchaikovsky, Sentient Yellow Mushroom.  
  
===============================================================  
  
Disclaimer: For my birthday, I did indeed receive "The Eternity Code." And I loved it. I overlooked the vaguely depressing ending because now, for the very first time, I own Artemis Fowl. He lives in my bookcase. Sometimes I feed him.  
  
Also, I now have a genuine passport to the Lower Elements! *Holds it up, angels sing proudly*   
  
And lastly, blue-boy Rowen is uncreatively stolen from an anime. First person to guess the right one gets a free milkshake after the earthquake...  
  
*Hint:* The anime has an annoying character called Yulie.  
  
=========================================  
  
------------------------  
  
Lower Elements  
  
------------------------  
  
Picking up effortlessly from when we last left off...  
  
"Holly, I'm sure that sign was there for a reason," Janisha offered from the back seat. Holly's eyes narrowed as she slammed the shuttle down a narrow alley, sparks flying from the wingtips as they scraped against the buildings.   
  
"Oh D'Arvit with the bloody signs. They're like those damn magnastrips. So repressive," Holly seethed to herself. She didn't trust herself to say anything aloud just yet. She was in a foul mood, brought on by a moody Fowl. (Believe it or not, the pun was intentional.) Artemis stared huffily out the window and hummed something annoying by Tchaikovsky. Holly had never liked Tchaikovsky.   
  
This was why Holly hadn't bothered to keep in touch with Fowl. He had always had this infuriating way of acting so calm and superior no matter the situation. It had saved her life a few times, but she had always found it vaguely annoying.   
  
And now there was the slightest change in attitude about him. Mud Boy had become a Mud Teen. There was little improvement. Bloody moody teenagers. Holly conveniently forgot her own wild 'tween' years and lapsed into a period of angry sulking.  
  
The atmosphere in the flyer was strained. Holly and Artemis pretended not to acknowledge each other's very existence. Butler sat in the back seat, not speaking either. He had no reason to say anything, but he looked tensely alert as usual. Then again, it was impossible not to be at the speeds Holly was driving. She tended to channel her emotions into genuine road rage. Emotional creatures, elves. Especially the females.  
  
Butler was also attempting to ignore the small, bony warlock imbedded in his side. Silver had resigned herself to her fate, occasionally offering sardonic flying advice that went largely ignored. She was decidedly uncomfortable, trapped between the infamous Butler and Fowl, with the wildcard of the LEP driving.  
  
The shuttle performed a physically impossible wraparound turn around a large statue of Frond. Silver closed her eyes and turned up the headset of the music player she was listening to. This was why flying was outlawed underground.  
  
Holly tapped the touch-screen control panel and opened the energy sensor screen. She wanted to see how far the lava's heat had spread.  
  
Dying heatspill showed up orange around the terminal and a few surrounding buildings. But that wasn't what shocked Holly. She was surprised to see that the tiny pinpoints of heat on the highways -- the nuclear batteries of cars and trucks -- were fading.  
  
Artemis decided to speak. "Unless I am very much mistaken--"  
  
The power went out.  
  
"Yes, Artemis?" Holly asked pleasantly.  
  
The emergency lights flickered on, glowing a dim blue.  
  
"-- A lockdown is the next logical step," Artemis finished, copying her Sweet n' Low tone.  
  
(I hate Sweet 'n' Low. Artificial sugar is the bane of the light.)  
  
The flyer, being an LEP craft, had a residual power source. It automatically cut off all unnecessary power-- extra lighting, music player (Janisha sighed as the faint strains of "Dirrrty Dwarf" died down) and air conditioner. The control panel gave off a muted, eerie glow. Two small icons appeared in the lower corner. One was shaped like a clock; one was shaped like a quill.  
  
Artemis reached in front of Holly and tapped the clock. The icon enlarged to show a small screen. "Auxiliary Battery Power: 28 HRS." He closed the window and reached for the quill icon.  
  
Holly swatted his slender hand away. "Beat it, Fowl," she warned. She didn't want him reading the message, didn't know what possibly valuable information it could contain.  
  
Artemis gave her an antagonistic look. "I'm the co-pilot. The job of the co-pilot is--"  
  
"Let. It. Alone." This time, the famed Holly Short Stare of Death did its work. The slightest hint of mesmer in her tone didn't hurt either. Artemis held her gaze for a record of three seconds before turning away nonchalantly and starting up the Tchaikovsky again.  
  
Holly opened the message herself, giving the back of Artemis's head several scathingly dirty looks as she huddled protectively over the screen. The Tchaikovsky grew louder and more dramatic, Artemis's cultured equivalent of sticking his fingers up his ears and going "Laa-laa-la, I can't hear you!"  
  
"Damn, I hate Tchaikovsky!" Holly finally snapped. She made it sound as casual as possible, as if she was just randomly stating a fact to thin air -- because, of course, Artemis didn't exist.  
  
The music of the Russian Master only grew louder, because, of course, Holly didn't exist.  
  
"Bloody teenagers," Holly said loudly to the world in general.  
  
Artemis began to make little conducting motions with his fingertips as the classical music got louder.  
  
Silver had to snerk. She couldn't help it. Unbelievably, Butler was very quietly sniggering as well, hiding it behind a copy of "Guns and Ammo" that he'd apparently brought with him. How amusingly immature and out of character. Janisha filed it away for future reference.  
  
And because of the music, and the snickers coming from the Peanut Gallery in the back, and the painfully hot flush of blood rushing to her face and up to the very points of her ears until she felt redder than Root, Holly forgot about opening the message. Scowling, she slammed so hard on the thruster that Artemis almost went through the windshield, and began to give the group an unnecessarily terrifying ride.  
  
----------------------------  
  
Grub & Trub's New, Mold-Ridden Apartment  
  
----------------------------  
  
The massive earthquakes rocking the underground city had actually woken the younger Kelp up. He sat up in bed, shouting wildly. "I never, Mum, it was all Fallacy! ... Mum?"  
  
A landslide occurred as another, smaller form emerged from beneath a mushroom-encrusted shower curtain. The fairy under it looked around with bloodshot hyper-green eyes. "Dude! 'S Armageddon."  
  
Vice Corporal Yulie Fallacy had come over to help his pal get settled into the new apartment, since Trouble was working overtime. So the pixie-sprite was put in charge of stuffing the furniture into the dank apartment, while Grub beat back the larger life forms with an old mop so the stuff would fit.  
  
However, fifteen minutes into the chore, 'moving furniture' had been ditched for something more fun. Namely, 'order potentially lethal drinks from the Netherworld Flamingo and make fun of human soap operas until we end up in a stupor.' The half-breed and the elf had dutifully sugared themselves into an incredible stupor, and were only snapped out of it by the larger earthquakes.  
  
Another earth tremor rocked the building, and the lights blinked out. Grub grabbed onto an exceptionally large yellow fungus to steady himself. Swear toads scampered for cover in all directions, cursing like sailors. Cockroaches flooded out of the woodwork in greasy black streams, vanishing out of the shattered windows.  
  
Fallacy staggered upright and looked around crazily. "Dude, is this like one of those things?"  
  
Grub's eyes were just as wide. "I dunno. What kind of things?"  
  
"Dude--" And the building shook again. "Ground-shaky things."   
  
"Earthquake things?" Grub offered profoundly, clinging to his fungus. (Of the pair, he was quieter, smarter and more mature. Fallacy was the crazed, whiny, hyperactive one. You really had to feel sorry for the LEP.)  
  
"Yeah, yeah!" Fallacy jumped up and down in excitement and was promptly thrown against a wall. He unpeeled himself from the soiled wallpaper and looked around suspiciously. "D'ya think so?"  
  
Grub thought about it. "Yeah."  
  
"Yeah, dude."   
  
"I am so going to file a complaint," Grub announced.  
  
They hung on to the nearest non-moving surfaces as the world shook again.  
  
"So what do we do?" Fallacy asked next.  
  
Grub plotted, his fingers sinking deeper into the mushroom. "Hey Fallacy..." he paused for dramatic effect.  
  
"What?" Grub continued to pause dramatically. "Whatwhatwhatwhatwhat?" the half-breed screamed, his milliseconds of patience gone.  
  
"Now is our time to be heroes!" Grub declared, attempting to make a grand, sweeping gesture with his left hand.   
  
Unfortunately, the large yellow mushroom wouldn't let him have it back.  
  
-----------------------------  
  
Holly's Apartment  
  
-----------------------------  
  
Bob had just had the Surprise of his Life.  
  
Grackles, ceilings, grapefruit and seaweed were all promptly forgotten. (Not that it took much.) Bob's World Moved. His huge eyes slid from side to side, watching the World slide past. Everything was wrong. Everything was surprising.  
  
The fish tank began to slip off the cabinet. With every dying tremor, it inched a little closer to the edge. Finally, agonizingly, it balanced on the rim of the table.  
  
Bob floated up and down, holding his breath in suspense. Whether or not a bogglefish can hold their breath or not is an unimportant fact. Maybe they close their gills.   
  
Bob held his breath, his fishy cheeks full of air. The tank wobbled dangerously back and forth, water sloshing around inside it. The slightest touch would push it over the edge.  
  
Bob began to turn red from holding his breath. His cheeks bulged, and his eyes popped unbelievably.  
  
The tank loomed over the edge of the table. Bob narrowly avoided a stroke. He began to turn red all over, his eyes bigger than laser disks. So much air was trapped in his body that he began to float upwards, like an over inflated balloon.  
  
Then his World steadied.  
  
Bob sighed in utter relief, deflating and sinking back into the water. A huge stream of bubbles escaped from his mouth and floated up to the surface.  
  
And the tank fell off the cabinet.  
  
----------------------------  
  
Foaly's Little Domain  
  
----------------------------  
  
The centaur rocked back and forth, whimpering slightly and stuffing macaroni and cheese into his mouth. Comfort food. His left hand rested limply on a keyboard, typing listlessly, as if it was a separate creature.   
  
Apparently Opal Koboi was not masterminding the lockdown; surveillance footage showed her to be peaceably building a pillow fort out of her prison-issue mattress and blanket. It might be interesting to note that she was singing, in a high-pitched off-key little-girl voice, "In Pixieland I'll take my stand, to live and die in Pixiiieee..." Her voice sounded tinny and garbled through the bad connection and low-quality camera.  
  
Demented, yes, and possibly something for the psychologists to ponder, but nothing actively malicious. It was actually kind of amusing, in a pathetic way.  
  
Foaly looked up from his macaroni in cheese. Whoa. Flashback. Somewhat sheepishly, he remembered what he'd been doing when Opal Koboi had imprisoned _him._   
  
(The author is completely and totally aware that you know what happened in the Arctic Incident. But because the author can never be accused of acting in what society deems a normal and rational way, she has decided to inflict yet another quickie plot summary on you. Her theory being, if Eoin Colfer does it, so can she.)  
  
For the camera, he'd been sobbing and chucking stuff in all directions, to draw attention from what he was really doing -- sending a message to Artemis Fowl.  
  
"Away, away, away down south in Pixie..."  
  
Foaly doubted that Opal was secretly sending a message to Artemis Fowl. After all, she barely knew he existed. He watched through slitted eyes as the pixie somehow found fault with her fort. She dismantled the whole thing and began putting it back together, this time using the wall as a support. There was absorption in every line of her tiny body, eyes focused only on her task. And Foaly grudgingly had to admit that she was making very nice forts, with a lot of planning and concentration going into getting the blanket the exact level of tautness and the pillow perfectly balanced on its side. It certainly didn't look like she was doing anything criminal.  
  
"For my Pixiiiiiiee..."  
  
And Opal probably wouldn't be doing anything criminal as long as she was in that cell. Not even the cameras could be tampered with. Not after a few enterprising prisoners, discovering they couldn't disable, burn or break the cameras, had covered the lenses with blankets, smoke, chewing gum, or... droppings. (The last prisoner was indeed a dwarf.) New cameras were set into the wall behind inch-thick frictionless glass.   
  
Foaly sighed and turned away from the screen. They were in the middle of a lockdown, he couldn't afford to waste precious time on a manic pixie and her pillow fort.  
  
--------------------------------  
  
Howler's Peak  
  
--------------------------------  
  
"To live or die in Piiixiiieee!"  
  
Opal finished the last notes of her improvised song as she clambered inside her pillow fort, pulling the blanket down so that she was completely hidden. Silly, Silly Foaly. She was going to write a particularly degrading version of him into a juicy slashfic she was planning. Pulling open the pillow with her fingernails, she pulled out her laptop and fired up the instant messaging.  
  
Evilly_Brilliant_Femme_Fatale: You on, my girl?  
  
LotrHotFangirl: Yep.  
  
LotrHotFangirl: I got kicked off the site, though. I'm changing my username.  
  
Evilly_Brilliant_Femme_Fatale: To something good this time!  
  
LotrHotFangirl: Shut up. My new username is JadePrincess.  
  
Evilly_Brilliant_Femme_Fatale: ... How stereotypically lame...  
  
LotrHotFangirl: Shut up!  
  
Evilly_Brilliant_Femme_Fatale: Fine, find, my lame friend. Did you write your part of the chapter yet?  
  
LotrHotFangirl: Here it is  
  
attachments: MAB.doc  
  
Evilly_Brilliant_Femme_Fatale: BTW, I've had an idea. How about we add a centaur to our Fic of Evil?  
  
LotrHotFangirl: A centaur? I dunno. Doesn't sound like Lord of the Rings.  
  
Evilly_Brilliant_Femme_Fatale: It'll work. Trust me.  
  
LotrHotFangirl: *shrug* Still keeping it slash?  
  
Evilly_Brilliant_Femme_Fatale: Why not? All right, so the centaur is this really stupid ugly bucktoothed man-slut, who thinks he's such a hot stud horse, like this major pony, but let me tell you he's not...  
  
----------------------------  
  
Streets of Haven  
  
----------------------------  
  
Lili Frond tucked the tiny vial into her bra. For all you males out there blinking cluelessly, it's the safest place to put something small that you don't want stolen. Lili couldn't take a chance that someone might try to pick her pockets on the way out. With the LEP in full 'freakout' mode, looters and vandals were getting a rare holiday.  
  
Lili looked down at the tall figure of the warlock sprawled out on the floor. His symptoms were similar to the red-headed pyro she'd blasted earlier. His breathing sounded oddly strained, and his blood darkened strangely as it trickled down his neck.  
  
The elf knelt down, brushing back blonde curls so they wouldn't touch the blood, and kissed him gently on the temple, leaving a mark of bright crimson lipstick. Then she rifled his pockets, swiping his membership card to the laser disk rental store (she'd been banned for life, but that's a different story) and his medic's ID.  
  
"Ah, so your name is Rowen. Cute." Lili slid the ID into the reader and walked out of Lab 42. Using the card, she exited the hospital freely, bracing herself against the odd tremors.  
  
The streets outside were illuminated by an eerie blue glow from the emergency lighting. Only a few fairies were left outside; the LEP had escorted the rest into civilian shelters to wait it out. Now goblin gangs were running amok with chairs and eggbeaters, cackling and breaking windows.  
  
Lili stalked imperiously past a group of goblins, her chin held high and haughty. She was an elf, a member of the LEP, a Frond, and a blonde bombshell. Ultimately a vastly superior being. Especially when compared to the scaly, dirty lowlifes that surrounded her.  
  
She was extremely surprised when her path was cut off by a hulky goblin with pierced eyelids. An act of stupidity which would have instantly earned him a promotion if the B'wa Kell hadn't been disbanded. Lili didn't even bother trying to keep the disgusted sneer off her face. "What do you want, goblin?"  
  
There was an outbreak of insanely annoying laughter from all sides. Lili turned, realizing that she was trapped in a circle of scaled hides, flaming blue breath, and not one brain cell to spare between them. Her hand went to the gun holster at her belt. "Well, what do you want?" she demanded.  
  
The circle fell silent as all the goblins looked at each other quizzically. "Ya, whadda we want?"  
  
"Eh, um..."  
  
"Heh."  
  
"Ya."  
  
"Money?" one gang member ventured.  
  
"Money!" the leader approved.  
  
"Moneymoneymoneymoney!" the goblins cheered, pleased with themselves.  
  
Lili waited for the noise to die down, her sneer widening. "I'm not giving you money."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Now get out of my way before I shoot you."  
  
The head goblin blinked and licked his eyeballs. Apparently he had pierced his tongue, too. "Uh... you can't do that."  
  
"Watch me," Lili purred.  
  
"No, you can't do that, because..." The goblin gaped, thinking painfully.  
  
"Ya can't shoot a gun..." A particularly brilliant goblin continued, then trailed off in confusion.  
  
"... durin' a lockdown," the leader finished triumphantly.  
  
"Yeah! Yeah! Take that, elf!" the others cheered in perfect unison.  
  
"I can't shoot an LEP gun, that's true. But what about this one?" Lili pulled the human gun from her holster.  
  
As one being of infinitely low intelligence, the goblins blinked. "Wha?"  
  
"Ah, that's nothin'," the leader snorted. "We can still take one snotty little elf."  
  
"Yeah. Who does she think she is?" the particularly brilliant goblin snarled, whipping out a fireball.  
  
"Stupid elves. They think they're so great and all. Think they're so much better than anyone else."  
  
"Well, we are," Lili told him calmly. "As a whole, we are more intelligent than the rest of you. Frond was an elf. I am an elf. Ninety-four percent of all LEP officers are elves. So are the Council members. The rest of you are simply minorities."  
  
The jaws of the goblins dropped to the street. They didn't even bother picking them back up. Still gaping, the leader turned to the brilliant one. "Is she insultin' us?"  
  
"She sure is, Cap'n. Right in front of us and all."  
  
"That's pretty stupid."  
  
"Yeah, that's really stupid of 'er."  
  
"Ya."   
  
The leader summoned a fireball in his palm and held it out to throw. Lili shot him in the nose. The tiny ivory pellet sent shockwaves through his body, dousing the flame in his claws. The goblin jerked and fell over backward.  
  
"Ey, she shot Soda!"  
  
"Argh."   
  
"Get her!"  
  
The goblins piled forward in a writhing, fiery mass. Lili stood in disbelief, unable to comprehend that they would actually attack her. Then she screamed as a fireball singed through her suit.  
  
"Hey! Goblin dudes! Like, over here!"  
  
"Egh?" The gang looked up to see two fairies running towards them. Well, running is a general term. The magenta-haired elf had a bright yellow mushroom wrapped lovingly around his leg, and he was dragging it along. The other fairy had the perilous look of a pixie and the green skin and large wings of a sprite, and he was flying along in a hyperactive fashion, like a hummingbird on drugs, slamming into buildings.  
  
"Whee, lookit the pretty colors," the halfbreed chirped, falling to the street and kicking helplessly. "Get'em, Grub-man..."  
  
With some difficulty, Grub unwrapped the struggling fungus from his leg. He flung it at a random goblin. Instantly the yellow mushroom made happy crooning noises and attached itself to the goblin's head.  
  
The rest of the gang looked at each other. Then, cackling like teenage girls who were given money and told to go amuse themselves, they galloped forth with all insanity.  
  
Grub froze. "Ohshite."  
  
Lili staggered to her feet and ran like (insert metaphor here.)   
  
"Moooom!" Grub was pinned against a building, looking terrified. The newly elected lead goblin threw a fireball at him, which soared over his head and scorched the bricks. Grub somehow managed a weak smile. "Missed me."  
  
"Neeaagh!" Furious, the goblin lunged forward, grabbed the smaller fairy by the shoulders, and started beating him against the wall.   
  
Yulie Fallacy attempted to go to his buddy's aid. He staggered to his feet but stopped in horror. Its wings aflame, breathing fire from its clashing beak, the giant grackle swooped upon him from above.  
  
Fallacy grabbed a stick that just happened to be lying there. Desperately, he beat the savage flaming grackle away from his head. "Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that snatch!"  
  
  
  
Lili looked back over her shoulder as she fled. The elf who had saved her was quite possibly in mortal danger. His crazed halfbreed friend was wildly beating at thin air with an imaginary stick. Feeling some sympathy, Lili took aim and gunned down a few goblins before dashing into the terminal.  
  
One vehicle had not been destroyed by the heat. Scratched into the paint were tiny letters that read, "TOOTH FAIRY." Lili jumped into her specially prepared vehicle and slammed on the throttle.  
  
Meanwhile, Grub was being smacked around by yet another goblin. "Who's yo mama? Who's yo mama?"  
  
"Ma Kelp?" Grub squeaked when he could breathe.  
  
"Oh." The goblin looked around nervously, dropped him, and ran away into an alley.  
  
Fallacy took another swipe at the giant flaming grackle. It snickered at him and offered him a chance to join the Dark Side. "Aaah! Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! Get away from meee!"  
  
------------------------------  
  
Holly's Apartment  
  
------------------------------  
  
The bogglefish floated on the surface of the water. A large crack had appeared in the tank, cutting it down the middle. A thin but steady stream of vitamin-tinted water trickled out of it, staining the already hassled carpet.  
  
The bogglefish twitched and opened a pair of enormous round eyes. It looked around in goggling, all-consuming astonishment.  
  
Several thoughts crowded into the fish's tiny brain. Then its tiny brain short-circuited, completely overloaded. While the brain put itself on hold and attempted to reassemble itself, it played a nice little screensaver. The fish watched the screensaver blissfully, and wondered what the meaning of life was.  
  
And then it came to the fish.  
  
The meaning of life was 42.  
  
The fish was very pleased with this, and decided to tackle the next big question.  
  
What am I doing here?  
  
The fish thought it had something to do with a gigantic, pointy-eared creature with hazel eyes and red hair. Then it thought a single word: "Elliptic." The fish existed because of an Elliptic. It looked up at the ceiling. Food, it thought. Then it wondered what food was. One big question at a time.  
  
Why does my head hurt? the fish wondered. It tried swimming into the wall of the tank. It bumped its nose. It was satisfied.  
  
Who am I?  
  
The fish was quite shocked to realize that it didn't know.  
  
It bumped into the wall again, which surprised it. It suddenly wondered why there was less water in the tank than usual. The fish's brain froze -- Tank? What tank?  
  
The fish blinked at the large crack in the tank. No name. No food. No Elliptic. And the water was disappearing.  
  
========================  
  
Will someone save amnesiac Bob before he runs out of water?  
  
Will the Tooth Fairy walk again?  
  
Will Holly slap Artemis?  
  
Will Evilly_Brilliant_Femme_Fatale and JadePrincess be kicked off the site?  
  
What is Elliptic?  
  
Will Grub and Fallacy get out of thier fix?  
  
Will you figure out where I kidnapped Rowen from?  
  
Will I finally find it in me to write the next chapter?  
  
The astounding answers when we return.   
  
"Je suis triste" means "I am sad" in French. And I am sad. For many reasons. I've gotten a year older, (still can't drive though, neh!) and am undergoing the process of moving. I suddenly think Foaly might be gay, which interferes with shipping. I have to be put temporarily in a high school at the new house, to get to know the community. (We homeschool, and Mom thinks I should get to know 'normal' kids for a while.) Butler died. Due to a culmination of Ordinary Teenage Angst (TM) I had a small mental breakdown a few weeks ago, which inspired me to work towards a major in psychology. (I have a weird mind.) Butler got resurrected. Several fish died. Butler got old, which interferes with shipping. We closed on the house -- on my birthday. Although I snuggle "The Eternity Code," it has completely screwed up my plans for the sequel I was thinking of, which probably won't come about now. I have sudden bouts of feeling worthless and not funny anymore, during which I read your reviews and demand to know why the hell you guys are still reading this. (Sniff. You're loved.) I'm leaving my oldest friend behind. Artemis got mindwiped. My muse committed suicide. I know how to end this story, but can't get there from here.  
  
Eoin Colfer is evil. Eoin Colfer is evil. Eoin Colfer is evil. Eoin Colfer is evil. Eoin Colfer is evil. Eoin Colfer is evil.  
  
... je suis triste. 


	12. Just a Little Unwell!

Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files  
  
By Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
Jiu the Weatherperson is mine, and like all my things, can be borrowed with granted permission. Jiu was actually born of an interesting coincedence involving cousins, chaos and Carinna's IM, so she does have a claim in everything Jiu-esque; also the humor prostitutes bit is half hers. Ivy's Amazing Hyper-Reactive Pan-Galactic Blend belongs to Intrikate. Because I am a lazy slacker and I steal from my friends.  
  
Take it away, Jiu.  
  
Jiu the Weatherperson: (pointing to graphic of the fic) As you can see, there's 80 percent sarcasm in the air today, with the dry humor continuing throughout the fic. Later on, a biting wit will drive derision towards us at very high speeds, while we can look forward to random showers and possibly even hysteria.  
  
... Thank you, Jiu. And without further ado:  
  
================================================================  
  
Chapter Twelve: Just a Little Unwell  
  
================================================================  
  
"All day staring at the ceiling  
  
Making friends with shadows on my wall  
  
All night hearing voices telling me  
  
That I should get some sleep  
  
Because tomorrow might be good for something  
  
Hold on  
  
Feeling like I'm headed for a breakdown  
  
And I don't know why  
  
But I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell  
  
I know right now you can't tell  
  
But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see  
  
A different side of me..."  
  
"Unwell," Matchbox 20  
  
===============================================  
  
Back at Fowl Manor, at a convenient distance from any trouble or strife that might have caused discomfort, Mulch Diggums was having the time of his life.  
  
There were bottles, and splashes, and beetles, and a squid.  
  
Bottles lay strewn carelessly around the multi-million dollar kitchen -- empty bottles, broken bottles, bottles filled with dirt and earthworms, bottles filled with mud and garden beetles, and bottles that bore a proud black label with gold ornamentation and strange lettering surrounding the image of a superbly ridiculous, long-legged pink bird with a beak like a deformed banana. The substances in these black-labeled bottles were unlike any substance on this earth.  
  
Splashes of unknown things were puddled along the Italian-tiled floor. Splashes of sticky things clung to the expensively painted walls. Splashes of something else entirely stuck to the ceiling.  
  
Beetles scurried about desperately, trying to hide under appliances that cost more than the average fanfiction.net reader could afford in a year.  
  
And, sitting despondently (and rather limply) in the stainless steel sink, with its lovely round eyes looking damp and depressed, was a single squid.  
  
In the middle of it all was a middle-aged dwarf, wearing an apron that said "Feed the Cook." Mulch stood on the counter, chugging something from a dusty bottle marked "Terribly Expensive Vodka" as he fed earthworms and beetles into the blender. He turned it on cheerfully, neglecting to put the lid on. Splatters of brownish goo joined the rest of the crud on the walls.  
  
It was this scene that Artemis Fowl the First stumbled into, looking for a midnight drink. He might have been a noble man, but he liked his Terribly Expensive Vodka more than he would admit.  
  
"Good God! What the hell is the meaning of this?!"  
  
Mulch promptly fell off the counter, the bottle of Terribly Expensive Vodka smashing into a lot of Terribly Expensive Pieces and forming a Terribly Expensive Puddle on the floor. "Oh, 'ey, what's up, top o' the morning and all that!"  
  
"Who the hell are you?" Artemis Fowl the First demanded in frosty outrage, waving his walking stick in disbelief. This wasn't the best idea for a crippled man; he fell sideways and had to catch onto a bar stool.  
  
"Oh, I'm the new help," Mulch said breezily, clambering back up.  
  
"ARE you." Artemis Fowl picked up a bottle and squinted at the strange, hieroglyphic letters that decorated its black label. The liquid inside was dark pink, and the bubbles inside it were going downwards, rather than up. A good head of foam had already collected at the bottom of the bottle. "And what, pray, are you doing?" he asked, icy blue eyes straying towards the depressed squid in the sink.  
  
"Snacking." Mulch had a long soup ladle, and was spooning the blended earthworms into his very large mouth. "Ish verra good. Wanshome?"  
  
"Ah, nooo. And the squid?"  
  
The lavender inverterbrate held up a tentacle and waved it around hopefully.  
  
"Oh, that? It was on sale."   
  
"You are aware that Fowl Manor is a tightly run affair," Artemis Fowl said in a voice that could chill wine at ten paces. "We do not spontaneously hire new help. I have reason to believe that you, sir, are an impostor. And impostors are not tolerated here."  
  
"YOU'RE a tightly run affair," Mulch remarked. "Want some a' thish? It'll looshen your ash..." He held up another black-labeled bottle; this one glowed a radioactive green.  
  
"If I want my 'ash' loosened, I will inform the family physician. What is your business here?"  
  
"The kid hired me."  
  
"WHAT kid?"  
  
"Artemis kid. Ya know, black hair, blue eye, yea high--" Mulch waved a hand in the general direction of the squid, but he couldn't see straight -- "Oi, that rhymed..."  
  
"I demand to see your references."  
  
"Tight-ash-ness runs in the family, I notice," Mulch muttered, rummaging about in his apron. He held up a grimy, muddy piece of paper.  
  
Artemis Fowl peered at it from a distance. "Ah. It appears you are indeed legitimate. That being said... you are fired."  
  
Mulch shrugged. "All righ' with me. Wanshomma this?"   
  
"Dear God no. It's... wiggling."  
  
"Feh. Try thish then." Mulch held out the glowing green liquid again, wiggling it enticingly.  
  
Artemis Fowl snuck a quick peek around, on the off chance Angeline was going to leap out of the woodwork and discover him. "Well..."  
  
Five minutes later, Artemis Fowl was happily plastered without a care in the world. Humans just aren't up to Ivy's Amazing Hyper-Reactive Pan-Galactic Blend, bottled exclusively by the Netherworld Flamingo.   
  
====================================================================  
  
Grub was literally up against the wall. His scaly, lizard-looking captor was keeping him easily pinned there with one massive hand. Or paw. Or... whatever was politically correct to call the mottled, hideously strong *thing* that was currently strangling him against a building. Because an LEP officer should never be politically incorrect, oh no, it made for bad feeling among the masses.  
  
Grub would have liked to be dropped, so he could breathe again, but it was a freaking long way to the ground. About five feet. It was just his luck that his captor was a massive creature and a real giant among the former B'wa Kell. Since goblins are enormously imaginative when it comes to naming their kiddies, his name was Snot. Because -- and this is the creative bit -- he had an unusual amount of snot. Grub noticed this, from his handy vantage point way up on the wall. And when Snot conjured up fire with the one hand that wasn't casually pinning Grub there, and inhaled it into his nose, the effect of the flaming mucus was just a lovely sight to be hold. Like Mozart and his symphonies. A work of pure art.  
  
Tongue firmly in cheek here. Whatever the hell that means.  
  
"So whaddaya think of that, ya mangy pink-haired point-eared nancy?" Snot wheezed snottily with little bits of fire and mucus dripping down his face in a lovely display.   
  
"Um. What do I think of what?" asked Grub, who hadn't been paying attention. It was hard, with a roaring in his ears and his lungs feeling rather squashed, and the rather distracting circle of goblins leering up at him like starving wild-eyed penguins eyeing a particularly juicy bit of penguin food. Some of them had long knives. Some of them had long forks. Grub did not like the looks of this.  
  
"Our revenge. For years of being downtredden- downtredded- Cerebellum?"  
  
"Cerebellum?" Grub choked. Even he didn't know what that was. Something to do with the brain. Brains involved thinking. Thinking involved intelligence. Snot and his gang were not big on intelligence. And the word had four syllables, for crying out loud.  
  
"Not you, idiot." Snot gave him a light shake which almost did the poor corporal in. "Cerebellum, what am I talking about?"  
  
The gang member who answered looked to be some kind of cross-breed, with a very large head. When he spoke, he sounded like a weary British gentleman of the David Attenborough type. "Our revenge for years of being downtrodden, sir. And then you were asking the mangy pink-haired point-eared nancy what he thought of it, sir."  
  
"Ya, what he said." Snot appeared to want an answer.  
  
Cerebellum coughed discreetly; turning to Grub, he said almost apologetically, "We would like closure, you see."  
  
"Oh. Um. It's. Lovely?" Grub tried. Because an LEP officer should never be politically incorrect. Oh dear me no. It would be bad PR.  
  
"What a waste of time. Well, I'm terribly sorry," Cerebellum stated very English-ly, "But I'm going to have to shoot you."  
  
Apparently there was no right answer.  
  
===========================================================  
  
At the LEP Headquarters, things were returning to normal. Rescue teams were sent out in all directions to dig trapped fairies out of crumbled buildings.   
  
Artemis Fowl the Second woke up and abruptly wished he hadn't. His eyesight was blurry, his mouth was dry, and he had a nagging feeling of having been, however briefly, vulnerable. The last thing he could remember was making a crash-landing in Police Plaza and then arguing with Holly about something. He remembered it being rather important at the time.  
  
Foaly's face slowly swam into focus, a strange, dreamy smile on his horsy face. "Oh, he's awake."  
  
Artemis opened his mouth to retort and made the highly intelligent sound of "Whi."  
  
"Oh, I'll expect you'll be a little dehydrated after the drug." Foaly stretched out his words, giggled lovingly, and offered Artemis a glass of clear liquid. The young man blinked, running his tongue against parched teeth, and accepted the glass suspiciously.   
  
"I presume this is water?" he said dubiously, but it came out of his dry throat more like "...eh, water?"  
  
"Ah, water," Foaly agreed tenderly, helping himself to a glass from a handy cooler. "The lifeblood of the planet. Did you know that most of our water is from the Ice Age? Gushing and rushing and slushing and plushing and qushing and flushing and tsushing and ... now I need to pee."  
  
The same glazed calm smile on his face, the centaur swung his hindquarters around and clopped off dreamily.  
  
Artemis looked around. Holly was sitting in a human-sized plastic chair against the wall of the dingy room; Artemis recognized it as last year's interrogation room. Apparently it had not been vacuumed since then. The young captain had her buzz baton laid across her lap and was watching him with a kind of weary alertness. He caught her eye and held up the glass.  
  
"Water," she told him curtly. "Drink it."  
  
He did. "... Foaly?"  
  
"We've given him horse tranquilizers. He's under a lot of stress. If we didn't inject it into his carrots he'd be kicking the walls down," Holly stated casually.  
  
Artemis digested this. "Butler?"   
  
"In the next room over, sleeping it off."  
  
"Medic?"  
  
"Who? Oh, the kid. We sent her home."  
  
"Commander?"  
  
"Having a triple bypass," Holly said calmly in the same tone she'd used with the other sentences. "He had a heart attack when you showed up."  
  
Artemis blinked.  
  
"Oh, it's no big deal," Holly said hurriedly, noticing his reaction. "Well, it is, but not for Beetroot. He's like a veteran. Legend has it he's got his own special bed in the Emergency Surgery Ward, and the medics take bets on his next cardiac arrest."  
  
"So open-heart surgery has become commonplace among the People?" Artemis mused aloud.  
  
"Not commonplace, but definitely not as risky as it is for you humans," Holly replied with a spark of pride in her eyes.  
  
"Hmn. Do you ever have... ethical dilemmas with that sort of thing?" Artemis questioned.  
  
"Ethical dilemmas?" Holly snorted. "Oh, that's rich, coming from you."  
  
"Well, you can't deny there is one. Perhaps some of the lives you save should have run their natural course."  
  
Holly stared at him for a bit, then remembered to close her mouth. "What on earth are you talking about, Fowl? What's with this sudden moral interest?"  
  
"Oh, no real reason. I was just pondering." Artemis templed his fingers and Pondered. "You know, I don't think it's right, you being able to just magically fix everyone who has a heart attack. It takes something out of life. It takes the edge off. Perhaps--"  
  
"Stop it!" Holly bolted up, the buzz baton clattering from her lap. "Shut up, you ignorant little--"  
  
"What? I'm just speaking my thoughts aloud--"  
  
"Shut up, damn you! Shut UP!"  
  
Artemis and Holly fell silent and stared at each other. Artemis looked calm and vaguely interested, Holly's face was a mixture of outrage, disgust and horror. Like he had just suggested that they go murder puppies.  
  
"So you'd just have Root die? Is that it?" Holly said, her voice starting to shrill. "After all we've done for you, and our magic--"  
  
"So that's it, then." Artemis sat back. "You fairies have a real fear of death."  
  
Holly wasn't expecting that.   
  
"You fairies have this desperate need to be in control," Artemis went on. "You absolutely love being superior and having the means to make everything bad go away. You can have whatever blood pressure you want and not have to worry, because your magic can even cheat death--"  
  
"You are one twisted kid, Fowl."  
  
"Or perhaps it's not all fairies. Perhaps it's just you, Holly. Have I hit a sore spot? Something personal?"  
  
"Quit it with the damn mind games, Fowl."  
  
"Oh, so I'm Fowl now. Suddenly you don't like me any more. So what happened that makes you so sensitive to an intelligent debate?"  
  
Artemis saw it coming, but it didn't matter. Holly slapped him halfway out of his seat.  
  
They sat in their chairs for a while, smoldering. Artemis tried very hard not to whimper as he slowly traced his burning cheekbone. Steely Self-Control wrestled with Shocking Pain, Anger wandered in and seethed, while Remorse skulked from its dusty corner to see what all the noise was about.  
  
"So why was I drugged in the first place?" Artemis asked after a while.  
  
"Shut up, mud teen."  
  
===========================================================  
  
JadePrincess: This is sooo going to get us reported. Besides, there are no centaurs in LOtR.  
  
Evilly_Brilliant_Femme_Fatale: There are vampires in the Silmarillion. And Sauron is Lord of the Werewolves. It'll work.  
  
JadePrincess: Silla... Isn't that some kind of bacteria?  
  
Evilly_Brilliant_Femme_Fatale: Very funny. You should be a stand-up comic.  
  
JadePrincess: Yeah, I'll tell jokes and people will give me money!   
  
Evilly_Brilliant_Femme_Fatale: No, that's called being a humor prostitute.  
  
===========================================================  
  
Water seeped out of the cracked tank while a bewildered bogglefish floated upside down and blinked. Apparently the World was shrinking. The fish did not know much, but he did know that this wasn't a Good Thing.  
  
The tank was less than half full now.  
  
Bob was in a Lurch.  
  
Holly had left her fish in the lurch once before. When Artemis Fowl had kidnapped her that first time -- was it just two years ago?-- Bob had been left in the apartment, alone and forgotten.  
  
Thankfully Caspian from the Netherworld Flamingo had noticed that Holly hadn't been coming in for karaoke night -- and Holly sang very good karaoke. Rather concerned for her customer's safety, Caspian had sent Mel Thorn to check up on the Captain.   
  
Mel Thorn, the beloved chef with the frying pan and Bogglefish-In-Trouble sensing powers, had broken into the apartment by looking at the door menacingly until it fell apart. She had burst into the apartment spy-style, humming "Mission: Impossible" and gazing around paranoically, noticed that Holly wasn't there, shrugged, cheerfully fed Cheerios to Bob, and left.   
  
Holly had caught it all on tape, from an old camcorder she used to have mounted on the kitchen wall to monitor burglars with; on the off chance that someone should poke down her door and try to steal her stuff, she would know who did it.   
  
Holly didn't have the camera any more; someone had stolen it.   
  
Still, she was NOT going to give in and ask Foaly for a new key. She had her pride to think of!  
  
At any rate, Mel's Bogglefish-In-Trouble sensing powers were drumming in her skull. As the quakes subsided, the crew of the Flamingo were picking themselves up and putting themselves back together. Mel was already gone, dodging rubble and pedestrians in a noble effort to save Bob the Atlantean Bogglefish.  
  
It was a race against Time.  
  
Thankfully, Time has been getting rather overweight lately and doesn't fly as quickly as it used to.  
  
===========================================================  
  
All this time, Takaban had been Lurking in the Shadows, feeling horribly depressed. After a while, depression became a hobby for him. He began to enjoy lying in the same place for days, not eating, barely breathing, and being generally pessimistic. It was rather enjoyable, if that was the word for it, to molder quietly away, thinking morbid thoughts about eternity. Scraggled feathers fell off him like leaves from a dying tree.  
  
"What the hell-- Takaban?! Are you dead there?"  
  
"I am contemplating the hopelessness of all existence as I sink deeper into a severe and mind-numbing depression. More or less, yes. Why?"  
  
"I need you to help me again." Said the sweet, feminine, flowery, yet also strong and imposing voice. Carrying sugared undercurrents of silvery flute, gentle harp, and the dulcet and honeyed song of a choir of angels -- all of which, miraculously, wrapped up in one delicate set of vocal cords, and none of the vastly different tones contrasting -- the voice of a creature which is so impossibly perfect that the forces of good cannot escape its gravity, and are sucked into it to their doom.  
  
(The author will pause from retching over her own fevered imagination to wonder if she could use that sentence again, in a Mary Sue parody. Nobody would notice, right? It's... recycling. Good for the Earth.)  
  
Takaban's cynicism saved him from falling into the white hole. "I don't owe you anything. I just want to die now."  
  
"I've told you, I'll heal you when you've finished." The voice -- like Lili Frond's, but much more cunning; like Opal Koboi's, but waaaay prettier -- began to sound annoyed.  
  
"Look." Takaban sat up and looked at her with feverish eyes with dark circles under them. "I've lived for too long already. It's been almost fifty-nine years and I just can't take it anymore. There is no hope." He flopped back down on the bed and recommenced moldering.  
  
There was a brief silence. Then the dainty creature of perfection hissed in anger, showing a pair of milky-white fangs that would put snow to shame for all their... milky-white snowy color.  
  
... although, when you think about it, snow is more blue-ish...  
  
... but logic and cynicism do not hold up in the vortex of silvery flutes and gentle harps...  
  
... ack...  
  
Takaban hated it when the Tooth Fairy was in one of her "Mary Sue" moods.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------  
  
This was written under influence of Painkillers, and waaay too many Mary Sues in the LOtR section. "Somebody hit these authors with a very heavy writer's block. PLEASE God," has now become my war cry. After all that, no wonder the chapter came out more than a little skewed.  
  
Cheers to Tie Kerl and the Seasyngr, who have won the "Spot the Rowen" contest. He is kidnapped from Ronin Warriors, which is the most deliciously awful-but-we-love-it-anyway anime around. He will be returned safe and with only mild emotional scars. The 'Netherworld' of the Netherworld Flamingo is another tribute to the show. Dark Warlords rule! (waves little banner)  
  
Thanks to Maiden Genisis and her character Mel Thorn, who volunteered to save Bob. Go Mel! (Bob waves a little banner taped to his fin)  
  
Anyway, because I'm a gimmicky Japanophile -- guess what's the deal with Takaban and you will be praised as a remarkably intelligent clue-finding type. And you can have the squid.  
  
Squid: ;.; (What did I ever do to anyone?)  
  
Bob: O. (Get this freaking -- thing-- out of my tank!!) 


	13. No Need to Argue

Artemis and Holly bond. Kitsune gets confused. Caspian has a Point. Goblins make good cheerleaders. Vinyaya gets a part. Lili is spineless. A Serious Council of War takes place. And at the end of it all, Nyghtvision beats up Takaban! And, yes... Bob gets saved.  
  
Old Man: And there's a swallow in Scene 22... Ooo!  
  
Excitement! Danger! Suspense! Well, sort of. All this and more in the upcoming chapter of...  
  
---------------------------------------------  
  
Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files  
  
By Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
Chapter Thirteen: No Need to Argue  
  
---------------------------------------------  
  
Disclaimer: I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts. Deedly, deedly, deedly. There they are a-sitting on my hard drive. (Translation: Nyghtvision's not sane enough to recognize that those are actually kumquats. Thus she can plead insanity in any courtroom and get off scotch-free for copyright infringement, WOO!)  
  
Oh, yeah. And for the safety of society, can everybody throw their computers across the room everytime I start getting too serious? Thanks.  
  
==============================  
  
"There's no need to argue anymore.  
  
I gave all I could but it left me so sore.  
  
And the thing that makes me mad  
  
Is the one thing that I had  
  
I knew, I knew  
  
I'd lose you  
  
You'll always be special to me, special to me, to me.  
  
--The Cranberries, "No Need to Argue"  
  
==================================  
  
Wing Commander Vinyaya had always prided herself on being the open-minded, liberal type. She was the only female on the Council, and had supported the notoriously fiery Holly Short when the captain was just a cadet in the academy, even when it put her career at stake.   
  
However, Wing Commander Vinyaya was not prepared for the scene that greeted her when she stepped into her office. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and turned to the two people who were standing behind her.   
  
"Is there, or is there not, a brightly colored pigeon shedding all over my computer?"  
  
Kitsune tilted his head, giving her an odd look. Vinyaya decided that she didn't like the newest addition to the LEP. He was always giving her this weird impression that he might go for her neck.   
  
"It's a parrot," he said quietly.  
  
"I like parrots," Foaly put in helpfully.  
  
Vinyaya bit her lip. "Any particular reason why all the files I had on my desk are blowing around near the ceiling?"  
  
She and Kitsune looked at each other carefully.  
  
"Because there's no back wall to your office?" Kitsune suggested, very cautiously, with the air of someone tap-dancing through a minefield.  
  
"Ah." Vinyaya looked again and accepted that this was indeed the truth. There seemed to be no back wall to her office at all. "So long as it's not just me. I wouldn't like to lose my mind for no reason."  
  
"I have a mind," Foaly perked up hopefully.  
  
"Very good, Foaly." Vinyaya carefully walked into her office and picked up the parrot. "Hmn. Apparently it has a message tied around its legs. No wonder it couldn't stand up. People get the strangest ideas from Mud movies."  
  
Kitsune looked rather worried. He turned to Foaly as a possible sane companion. Foaly smiled back, looking as glazed as a doughnut. "This tinfoil protects my brain from aliens," the centaur offered.  
  
"Good," Kitsune said.  
  
Vinyaya read the note and dropped the parrot unsympathetically. Her lips flattened into a line. She put the scrap of paper into a handy pocket and strode past. "You will look into this, Kitsune. Found out who stole my wall and why."  
  
The secretary poked her head in the office; "Commander, the Kelp brothers are missing, the Council is in an uproar, there's a rumor that Artemis Fowl has been taken in for questioning, riots are breaking out in all directions, and we're out of espresso."  
  
"Hsn? Espresso?" Vinyaya mumbled, preoccupied.  
  
"None to be had anywhere, Commander. Espresso machines throughout the city have stopped working. We think it's out of sympathy, Commander. And Commander Root is coming around nicely, Commander."  
  
Vinyaya looked up and frowned, working through the past conversation like a swimmer paddling through heavy water. "The Kelps are missing?"  
  
"That's what I said, ma'am."  
  
Vinyaya let out her breath in a gusty sigh. On the one hand -- chaos, destruction, the city in ruins. On the other hand -- chaos, destruction, a pissed-off Ma Kelp with a soup ladle. The choice was clear.   
  
"Go find the brothers, Kitsune. The wall can wait."  
  
He lingered for a bit, his head still on one side. "What's in the note?"  
  
Vinyaya sighed. "A plea for help and a medium-sized pizza." She picked up her com-set.  
  
===============================================================  
  
"We're going to have a baby."  
  
"How does Arty-miss feel about this?" Mulch asked in a rare bout of sympathy.  
  
"I AM Arty-miss." Artemis Fowl the First giggled at the butchering of his name. Then he giggled again, at his striking wit.  
  
"No, other Arty-miss. Dinky vampire boy what talks funny and uses too big words."  
  
"Oh, him. 'E's my son you know."  
  
"Ya?"  
  
"Ya."  
  
They thought about this.  
  
"Poor kid," Mulch said finally.  
  
"What's in this stuff anyway?" Artemis Fowl wondered.  
  
Mulch blinked muzzily at the flamingo label. "'S'got ashwagandha in it. S'never a good sign."  
  
=========================================================================  
  
Artemis drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Holly?" he asked abruptly.  
  
The elf glowered up at him, looking as surly as Root. "What now, Fowl?"  
  
"Are you waiting for some sort of apology from me?"   
  
"Yes. Yes I am, actually."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Well -- because you act like you don't care about us -- and we've done a lot for you -- and -- and-- Root could really be in trouble and you aren't even worried -- and because you're really getting on my nerves-- and because -- yes, just because! D'Arvit, WHY do you have to be so AGGRAVATING?!"  
  
"You mean 'irritating,' Holly, not 'aggravating.' 'Aggravate' means 'to make worse,' not 'to annoy.' Please don't hit me."  
  
Holly ground her teeth.  
  
Artemis stared at the ceiling for a bit. Holly looked at it too, then remembered how boring ceilings were and looked at her toes. The silence was as grey and oppressive as the ratty old carpet on the floor.  
  
"My father was a bit like Root," she remarked off-handedly. "Never relaxed. He had a stroke when he was about a hundred and seventy. We couldn't save him."  
  
"Oh," Artemis told the fascinating ceiling. "Now I see. I'm sorry."   
  
Holly sniffed slightly and darted a look at him. He looked remorseful enough. "Thank you."  
  
The silence got a bit less unbearable. It was almost companionable.  
  
"You know, I believe I've never been as bored in my life before?" Artemis remarked when he had exhausted the possibilities in the ceiling.   
  
"We could play rock, paper, scissors."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Dunno."  
  
"Could you at least pass the time by telling me what's going on here?"  
  
"I would if I knew. As you know, I just got here myself."  
  
==========================================================================  
  
The Netherworld Flamingo was dark and chaotic.   
  
It was usually dark and chaotic, but this time it wasn't on purpose.  
  
The rescue teams had managed to dig out Tie, Bryony, Kitty, Y'lime, Horatio, Gwyneth, Ophelia, Leo, Joe, and two large fishtanks full of very surprised fish. However, Ivy and Caspian were still trapped beneath a large pile of assorted crud. When the beams had fallen, it had created a sort of cave, which cut off the proprietor and the reporter from the rest of the group. It was doubtful if the rescue teams could find them in all the rubble  
  
"Think the parrot got through?" Ivy asked. One of her tinted contacts had been knocked out, so she peered lopsidedly at Caspian with one blue eye and one green eye.   
  
The short, young elf whimpered in response. She was attempting to heal her neatly broken nose; thankfully she had a lot of practice. "Probadly. I just hobe somebuddy will nodice the node."  
  
Their best chance of rescue hung on the lime-green wings of the parrot they had stuffed through a small crack in the rubble. Ivy had written a note on her omnipresent notepad and they'd tied it to the bird's legs.  
  
"The story of my life is probably happening out there, which just makes everything worse." Ivy's head snapped up, a gleam in her mismatched eyes. "Wait... remember the secret tunnel?"  
  
"Whad secred tunnel?"  
  
"The gigantic hole in the back of the kitchen that you covered with cellophane after Corporal Fallacy fell into it and ended up aboveground in the Arctic Circle."  
  
"Oh, THAD secred tunnel."  
  
"If we dig our way towards it, we could escape before our air runs out."  
  
"We've godd d' hole we stuffed d' parrot through."  
  
"Yes... but this would be an Adventure."  
  
At that moment, a beam of light shone into the small cave. A dwarf wearing a rescue helmet with a flashlight mounted on it pushed her way through the rubble. "You the people who sent out the parrot?" she asked gruffly.  
  
"Maybe," Caspian said warily, giving her a highly suspicious look.  
  
"With a note attached to its leg, asking for rescue and a medium-sized pizza?"  
  
"Yes, yes, that was us. We were a bit hungry."  
  
As the two young elves clambered through the rescue tunnel, Caspian was struck by a thought. She reached forward and tugged their rescuer's boot.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Can you take us to the LEP?"  
  
===============================================================  
  
Mulch and Artemis Fowl the First were going through the Big Book of Baby Names for Young Aristocrats.  
  
"Ludwig."  
  
"Eeargh, no." Mulch drew his finger across his throat. "He'll get beat up with a name like that."  
  
"Who said she was a he? I like Ludwig. Sounds like earwig. Earwigs are good for gardens. Write it down."   
  
Mulch pretended to add it to a list. "Right. Next?"  
  
Artemis Fowl made a great show of closing his eyes and jabbing at a random place in the book. "Eoin."  
  
"Huh. 'S different."  
  
"Write it down, man! Write it down!" Artemis Fowl the First thundered commandingly.  
  
"Not a girl's name, though."  
  
"I can name my daughter Eoin if I want to. Or Eowyn, that's girly and everything."  
  
"Why do you think it's a daughter, anyway?"  
  
"Oh, all embryos start out female, for the first few weeks anyway. I'm just getting a head start."  
  
"And if it turns into a boy?"  
  
"Artemis is a girl's name and Artemis and I have never complained."  
  
"Oh, and you two are obviously such well-adjusted people."  
  
"Shut up and pass the ashwagandha."  
  
=============================================================  
  
"Rock, paper, scissors, shoe."  
  
"D'Arvit," Holly muttered, glowering, as Artemis's scissors beat her paper.   
  
"So the score is three for you, twenty-four for me. Rock, paper, scissors, shoe."  
  
Artemis won again, bopping her scissors lightly with his rock.  
  
Holly pulled her hand away and glared. "You've got to be cheating."  
  
"When I was seven years old I made a study of rock-paper-scissors. People are amazingly predictable, and fairies appear no different. Three to you, twenty-five to me. Rock, paper, scissors, shoe."  
  
Bored and frustrated beyond belief, Holly held out her fist; Artemis held out his palm, flat as a piece of paper. "D'Arvit!"  
  
"Quite." Artemis covered her 'rock' with his palm. For a moment his thin, pale fingers were wrapped over her small tanned fist. "You have very small hands, Holly."  
  
She looked down at their very different hands, remembering something, and grinned.  
  
There was a slight cough from the door. Trouble Kelp stood there, looking shocked, confused, and generally bogglefishy. To his credit, he rallied swiftly and pretended that it was perfectly normal to see a human underground, holding hands with Holly Short. "Um... am I interrupting something here? Because, um, I could go away. Um."  
  
Holly sighed.  
  
It was really annoying that whenever anyone saw her interacting with someone of the opposite gender -- or even of the same gender -- they instantly thought, "Romance!"  
  
=============================================================  
  
It was a standoff.  
  
Kitsune had Cerebellum, the smart goblin, in a headlock. Snot had Grub pinned to a wall. Kitsune and Snot were glaring at each other venomously, each choking their hapless captives. Vice Corporal Fallacy was crumpled on the street, quietly singing the obscene song about the hedgehog. And the rest of the goblin gang was productively playing strip poker in a corner of the alley.  
  
Well, perhaps the last part wasn't quite true. They were really playing a nice civilized hand of bridge. But strip poker has a much more interesting ring to it.  
  
The strained air was filled with Snot's malicious hissing, Grub's increasingly muffled squeaks, Cerebellum panting, Kitsune whispering threats in Japanese, things about hedgehogs that I really would rather not print, and the soft shuffle of cards.  
  
Finally Cerebellum spoke. "Look. It's all very macho to stand around glaring at each other, but it appears to be going nowhere. We will release the pink-haired nancy elf, and you will release me."  
  
Kitsune nodded, glowering. He loosened his grip and kicked the big-headed goblin into the middle of the bridge game. Cards went flying everywhere  
  
"'Ey, I was winnin,'" a random goblin whined.  
  
"All right, let's have the pink-haired nancy," Kitsune demanded.  
  
Snot's face twisted in what is classically called a malicious grin. "All right... you can have 'im. In lots of peace."   
  
"Snot, I do believe you mean 'in lots of pieces,'" Cerebellum stated pointlessly.  
  
"What-the-hell-ever." Snot slammed Grub against the wall, making the little elf's head rock back limply. Then Snot performed a nice drop kick, booting Grub halfway across the street like a cute, magenta-haired soccer ball. The elf's small body hit a shop window and shattered it... into lots of pieces.  
  
"AND-- HE-- SCORES!" the random goblin whooped. The extra goblins whipped pom-poms and tight cheerleader costumes out of nowhere, formed a pyramid, and started chanting perkily. (It's hard to deal with cast extras.)  
  
Kitsune whipped out a handful of fire. So did Snot. They blinked at each other for a minute, then started throwing fireballs. It was rather pointless, since they both shared the same affinity for fire.  
  
But who was going to argue?  
  
=================================================================  
  
"Bob, thou art saved." Mel Thorn held the recently repaired fishtank aloft. From a broken skylight poured a golden beam of celestial radiance and intensity.  
  
Bob boggled.  
  
==================================================================  
  
"Janis, it's really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really important."  
  
Caspian sat back and gave the LEP secretary massive puppy-dog eyes.  
  
Janis regarded the young elf, who had often delivered Snickers bars and milkshakes to her desk. She felt genuinely sorry that she couldn't help. "Cas, these people are losing their minds. Do you have any idea what kind of situation we're in?"  
  
"Um. Well, there was a bit of an earthquake."  
  
Janis groaned. "D'Arvit, Caspian, didn't you notice, the, you know, CHAOS?"  
  
"Er, think of who you're talking to here. I usually just get Joe to deal with it."  
  
Janis sighed. "It was a Haven-wide catastrophe! It completely overrode our... overrides! And--" she lowered her voice to a gossip-level-- "I hear things around here, you know? They're saying it was deliberate! Caspian, are you paying attention?"  
  
The tweenager blinked, tearing her eyes from a nearby sparkly mobile. "I'm sorry, what? I wasn't paying attention."  
  
"Oh God." Janis thumped her head against her desk.   
  
Then she had an idea.   
  
An awful idea.  
  
The Grinch had a wonderful, awful idea.  
  
Janis absolutely loathed a crusty old Council member, Retired Admiral Walter Kelp Hamlet Scrimshaw, the Atlantean Ambassador and very distant relative of the young Kelps in the LEP, who had appeared briefly in the beginning of the story.   
  
Scrimshaw was part of a famous, wealthy, conservative old family and was one of those classic old codgers whose minds you couldn't change with a hatchet.  
  
Every time the regal Scrimshaw had visited, he treated Janis like dirt.  
  
Caspian could be a very annoying youngster. Arguing with Caspian was something like teaching advanced college-level algebra to a Siamese cat on crack while floating in a chamber of zero gravity. (Whoo, that's a *good* metaphor!)  
  
"This is really important, huh?"  
  
"Really, really, really, really---"  
  
"Good. Well, actually, Caspian, there is a Council member who would listen to you. But, um, for security reasons, don't let on that you're forty-two years old and female. Say you're... uh... a banker. Yup. An old, ugly, male one. And you want to talk to him about stocks and shares and how the, um, earthquake has affected them. Yeah. And then when he grants you an audience..."  
  
Caspian leaned forward, listening intently. She was scarily intense. Janis leaned back slightly.  
  
"Tell him this ....thing that you think is so important. He might not want to hear it. So just keep arguing with him, Cas. Just keeeeep arguing."  
  
=================================================  
  
Blue sparks whizzed around a small, crumpled figure like flies landing on carrion. They settled over cuts, scrapes and bruises, melding together, healing, and vanishing.  
  
Grub Kelp's mind, crawling back dejected and rather dusty from a vacation in Laa-Laa Land, slithered into awakeness and started complaining loudly about a headache.  
  
He sat up and found that he was sitting in a big puddle of shattered glass. He had a sore throat and a headache that could be used to stun small trolls. His first coherent thought was: Not AGAIN.  
  
His second coherent thought was: I'm going to kill Fallacy, I really am.  
  
He wondered, With what?  
  
Grub felt hungry, and he couldn't remember for the life of him what he was doing sitting on the floor with broken glass all around him. He looked around and realized that he was in an abandoned store. Gloria's Secret. A female lingerie store. This was... different.  
  
Grub started looking around for aspirin, a glass of water and a pizza. Of course these are not things you normally find lying around a Gloria's Secret Store. All he found was a bottle of antidepressant, half a bottle of flat Diet Coke, half of a watercress and pimiento sandwich, and a pair of feminine frilly knickers. He consumed everything except the knickers, which he wrapped around his head. Then he looked out the window.   
  
A struggling red-haired human was getting sat on by a group of scaly, lizard-tongued cheerleaders. He was fighting like a cat with fingernails and teeth, but it's almost impossible to escape from a pile gang of angry cheerleaders, especially if they're all goblins and will probably use your skull for an ashtray after they've squashed you.   
  
Glory for Grub Kelp loomed ahead.  
  
============================================================  
  
Trouble Kelp fidgeted slightly. "Er, Commander Vinyaya's called a quick Council of War. Nothing formal, but you all have to come." He stared at Artemis with open curiousity.  
  
Just then there was an earsplitting yell that echoed through the halls. "You did WHAT?!" a male voice shouted in the distance.  
  
Holly smiled in relief. "Oh, good, Beetroot's back!"  
  
============================================================  
  
Arctic Circle. Headquarters of covert fairy operation. Very cold.  
  
Lili Frond sat with her hands folded in her neat little lap. She looked alert and eager, like a spaniel that can do tricks.   
  
Takaban limped in, looking hung-over. He also looked run-over, and game-over, and over-and-out. Pale skin clung to his hollow cheekbones, and he seemed to lack the self-esteem to even fold his wings. The circles under his bloodshot eyes were so dark it looked like someone had given him two perfect black eyes.   
  
Without looking at Lili, he walked into a wall. He stood there, forehead pressed against the wall, and slumped.  
  
Chills ran down Lili's back. It would have been amusingly clumsy if it hadn't been for the dead, uncaring look in his eyes. Like he'd seen the wall, but couldn't be bothered to change his course. Like life just wasn't worth it, and it wasn't even worth the trouble to worry about pain. Angst practically reeked from his ratty-looking feathers, which had lost their former raven luster and were now the color of old ash.  
  
"Um," she said quietly.  
  
Takaban's forehead was still pressed against the wall. His eyes rolled back in his head. He slowly slid to the floor and lay completely crumpled there.  
  
"Um, Mr. Takaban? Oh, God!" Lili scurried over to strange winged figure. "D'Arvit! Takaban!" Desperation prompted her instincts. She held out her manicured hand tentatively, tapered fingers hovering just above his gaunt shoulder. Lili never got herself into painful situations, and her healing powers were rarely used. She doubted they could do more than heal a sprained ankle, a bruise, a scrape, little hurts that would just as easily be healed with a kiss and a prayer. A shy little blue spark crept out from her fingernail and fizzed out. Encouraged, Lili held her hand closer.  
  
Takaban's eye snapped open and he caught her wrist. "Don't," he hissed.  
  
"Oh my God, you're back from the dead," Lili blurted, realizing a millisecond later how lame that sounded. "Ow, you're hurting my hand."  
  
He let go stiffly. "Don't do that. Don't do that."  
  
"Mr. Takaban, you don't look very healthy."  
  
"Really. I thought the half-dead look suited me." He set his back against the wall and started pushing himself upright.  
  
"Oh, good," Lili said in relief. "You're okay."  
  
Takaban made a scathingly sarcastic noise. "Do you have the vial?"  
  
Lili pulled it out of her bra.  
  
Without missing a beat, Takaban said, "Good. You've done good work." He paused. "The- the boss wants to see you now."  
  
"The boss?" Lili asked in confusion.  
  
"Of course. Who I get my orders from. You didn't think I came up with these crazed plans myself, did you?" Takaban started to laugh bitterly, but stopped, apparently out of pain. "Not my style. Besides, I've never had the motive. Little underground Haven never really interested me."  
  
Lili still looked confused. She wasn't really interested in Takaban's motives. "So who is the boss?"  
  
Takaban made another sarcastic noise. "Just go through the door and give her the vial." He pointed to a door that Lili had gone through many times. It led to the small room where Takaban kept his laptop.  
  
When Lili entered the room she was half-blinded by a bright light. "Sweet Frond Almighty."  
  
=======================================================  
  
Seated around a table were Holly, Trouble, Butler, and Artemis. Foaly was also present, sitting awkwardly on his haunches and humming quietly to himself. At the head of the table sat Commander Root, looking a lot more relaxed and less ruddy than usual. Wing Commander Vinyaya was seated at the foot of the table. Butler found himself fascinated by the queenly, dryly humorous fairy. Like Holly, Vinyaya managed to pack enough charisma for four humans into a tiny three-foot frame, but unlike Holly, she had a calm sense of maturity and leadership. Perhaps Holly, too, would develop this in time.  
  
"You can't be serious." Artemis's cultured voice covered a whole slew of adjectives. Icy, stony, sharp, and frigidly cold. "I know that my father has accidentally come in contact with a fairy. That is why I bothered to come here. But I will not stand for you accusing him of plotting to undermine Haven. My father is simply not that kind of man."  
  
"Fowl." Root's voice was almost paternal. "I understand that it's hard for you to accept."  
  
"Beetroot understands something?" Trouble breathed into Holly's pointed ear. "I thought he went in for heart surgery, not a lobotomy."  
  
Holly chuckled under her breath, keeping her face as straight as possible. "They must have given him a soft heart," she whispered back. Vinyaya gave them a stern look, as if they were schoolkids back at the Academy, whispering in class.  
  
"There is nothing for me to accept. I am disgusted -- no, outraged -- by what you are saying about my father."  
  
"I know it's not really my place to speak right now," Butler put in calmly, "But Artemis is right. Mr. Fowl was never the kind of man who would deliberately hurt others for gain. He is now more deeply honorable than ever."  
  
Root sighed. Artemis wasn't all that bad a kid these days, and Butler was a man after his own heart. He didn't like being the bearer of bad news. "Fowl, we have proof. Your father financed the terrorists that set off this earthquake."  
  
Artemis's face was sent. "Let me see."  
  
Foaly was brought out of his stupor, by virtue of Vinyaya stepping on his tail. Artemis took the packet of papers he was handed and started leafing through them. Sitting close to his Principal, Butler noticed that the papers were mostly patterns of letters and numbers, meaningless gibberish that looked something like constantly repeating Internet addresses.  
  
The teenaged boy set the papers down in resignation and bowed his head for a minute. When he looked back up, there was resolution in his face. "I see what you mean."  
  
Root and Vinyaya looked intense.  
  
"But there's something odd about this. It's too easy to track my father and this fairy correspondent of his. My father is an intelligent man, and you fairies are paranoid. It makes me think that this is a setup." Artemis steepled his fingers and looked pensive.  
  
There was an expectant silence.  
  
"... So?" Holly ventured.  
  
"So I think that these people not only wanted my father's money, but they wanted to set us against each other. They must expect me to side with my father against you."   
  
Everyone nodded, except Trouble. He looked skeptical. "This is all conjecture."  
  
Holly kicked him under the table and scowled. Trouble glared back. "What?" he mouthed.  
  
"Pay attention," she hissed.  
  
"I have decided," Artemis said regally, drawing everyone's attention to him. "I will join forces with you to eliminate this threat. In return, you will leave my father alone, as he really had no idea what he was doing. And I will expect to be paid for my service."  
  
Commander Root sighed. "It's always about money with you. How much do you want?"  
  
"Oh, I think another half-million ingots will do nicely. Unmarked bars, solid gold. And, of course, I expect it without a grudge or strings attached. No sneaking about trying to steal it behind my back." Artemis grinned his vampire grin. "Agreed?"  
  
"Feh!" Root scoffed. "We're in the middle of a recession!"  
  
Vinyaya spoke for the first time. "Julius, if the boy is only interested in money, than give him the money." Her light, piercing gaze settled on Artemis with a trace of amusement. "That much honest gold will keep him out of trouble for a long time. By the time he spends it all, he won't want to play with fairies any more." She sat back, looking catlike and wise.  
  
Artemis thought, Make a note to watch this Vinyaya in the future.  
  
"All right, all right." Root leaned across the table and held out his hand. "Agreed."  
  
Human and fairy shook hands for the second time. Another historic moment.  
  
Then Artemis spoiled it all by asking sweetly, "Can I have that in writing?"  
  
============================================================  
  
After the Council of War, as it would come to be called, Root and Vinyaya drew off together.  
  
"I'm not even going to ask why you're supporting Fowl," he started.  
  
She smiled demurely. "And I won't answer. You're in a delicate condition after all."  
  
"Do you think we should put Foxy on the case? I've got a hunch that he could help."  
  
Vinyaya thought about it. Then she smiled a wise, wicked smile. "No. Save Kitsune for later. If we keep dealing with Artemis Fowl..."  
  
Their eyes strayed briefly to the eerie human.  
  
"... It might be good for us to have a human-sized fairy he doesn't know about."  
  
=============================================================  
  
Caspian: (awed) I make people dance.  
  
Bob: o.O?? ((Needs very little translation, although emoticons aren't very good at demonstrating fish raising their eyebrows, which is what Bob is doing.))  
  
Caspian: (hushed voice) Working separately, of their own accord, five people danced in reviews and emails when I updated. (stares at computer)  
  
Bob: O.- ((Guess it's up to me to deal with disclaimers n: Oh, ya. He's driven to distraction by all this speculation about his gruesome fate. (beams cheerfully) Smile and wave to the nice reviewers, Taka my boy. Smile and wave.  
  
Takaban: (whimper)  
  
Caspian: He loves you all, really. (jabs him in the side) Remember what I pay you for. (hands him a sheaf of emails)  
  
Takaban: (leafing through them and occasionally whimpering) The Seasyngr (Now known as Puck) says I'm... moulting. I like her, she gets right to the point. Though her muses could stand for a rabies vaccine.  
  
Caspian: But I love her muses!  
  
Takaban: You would. (reading the next one) Maiden Genisis says I've either gone to the dark side--  
  
Random Parrot: (sees cue) Join the Dark Side and I will Spare Your Life!  
  
Takaban: (twats it with pillow) Or I've got parasites which will make my eyes go crusty and eventually kill me. (eyes get large, deerlike and generally puppy-doggish) What? Why? (whimper)  
  
Caspian: (snigger) Good one, Mel... (blinks and looks vaguely sympathetic) Oh, that's...too bad. Not good at all, no.  
  
Takaban: And then there's Trixi...  
  
Bob: O.O ((HI TRIXI!!)) (bounces happily around tank, which starts sliding off table again)  
  
Takaban: ... who has quite a good theory...   
  
(fishtank inevitably falls off table and onto Takaban.)  
  
Takaban: (carefully pulls seaweed out of his hair) ...I hate my life.  
  
Caspian: (sympathetically) I hate your life too.  
  
Squid: If I had a life, I'd hate it!  
  
Takaban: Could we not quote the Muppets. And then there's slime frog, Bryony if you will, who says I have a very short birdy life and will probably kick the bucket any day now. (seethes)  
  
Caspian: Heh. Cheers, Bry! (thumbs up)  
  
Takaban: (twats her with Squid) So who gets this thing?  
  
Caspian: It's up for grabs for now. I'm really enjoying your theories, they're all great. Nobody's hit close to my original idea yet. But some of your ideas struck me as even better. If I do use them, I will ask you first, then give you credit and praise. Thank you so much!  
  
Takaban: Yes, yes, good, good. Now can we close up the chapter? You're covering way too much space! Unlike us, these people have lives!  
  
Caspian: Almost done. At 161 pages long on Microsoft Word, The Ivory Files is the longest humor fic in the AF section. Woot! Thank you all for making this possible. Also, I am sorry that I haven't been replying to reviews like I used to. I don't have Internet anymore. I love you all, and wish I could thank you all by name. So I'll just metaphorically hug you all and say thank you for your wonderful work. And please don't stop! I desperately crave love and attention!  
  
Takaban: You're pathetic.  
  
Caspian: Do not meddle with authors! We have special powers! 


	14. Something to Do with Something Or Not

Another bed collapses, a Secret Tunnel is slightly less Secret, Bob hits a stewpot, Kitsune goes madder, about two lines of Vinyaya, the Tooth Fairy again, Grub eats pizza, Caspian annoys a grownup, and the author manages to be vaguely political. Oo, politics! Tension! Betrayal! Pizza! Random humor and skippy-do-day, yet very little confusing serious plot thingies. And Fallacy.  
  
=  
  
Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files  
  
By Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
Chapter Fourteen: Something to Do With Something... Or Not  
  
=  
  
Disclaimer: FIFTEEN men on a dead man's chest. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum. Drink and the de'il do the rest. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum. (Translation: Nyghtvision owns Atlantean Bogglefish, an annoying foxy fairy, a cynical birdy man, a REALLY annoying pixie-sprite, and a recently collapsed nightclub. The rest belongs to a funky little Irish dude who looks like a leprechaun, and who makes money off it all. Is this fair? She thinks not.)  
  
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DEDICATION:  
  
Nyghtvision's DEAR little sister, Daedream, did the obligatory beta reading, mocking, and making fun of Fallacy. Cheers to you, kid. (We're so different, we're like Nyght and Dae.)  
  
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"One day you'll see her and you'll know what I mean  
  
Take her or leave her she will still be the same  
  
She'll not try to buy you with her time  
  
But nothing's the same as you will see when she's gone  
  
It's foreign on this side  
  
And I'll not leave my home again  
  
There's no place to hide and I'm nothing but scared..."  
  
"This Side," Nickel Creek  
  
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Kitsune opened h sune was in the same hospital room he had been in last time, with the Evil Bed and the Bile-Colored Walls. Except for this time there was a weird little creature dripping mutant pizza toppings all over his chest. "Yes, kudasai. Except I think I've broken both my arms and possibly my brain."  
  
"Yeah, ya do look a little bit splurfy. Those were some nasty cheerleaders. Here, I'll feed it to you." And Grub began to administer pizza like a strange warped version of Florence Nightingale. Except not really.  
  
"Um, what happened?" Kitsune asked after Grub got bored and started trying to inhale soda.  
  
"Oh, well." Grub stuck out his scrawny chest, which was barely noticeable. "There was a bit of a battle." He laced his fingers and stretched in the classic 'it-was-nothing-really' macho gesture. "Which, of course, I won. Did you ever hear of how I single-handedly defeated the human Butler after he took out the entire force of LEPRetrieval One?"  
  
Kitsune got the feeling that he was going to. "Er, I'm from Japan and I just got here really, but--"  
  
"So there I was," Grub said blithely, painting pictures in the sky with his arms and smacking Kitsune in the face, "All alone, standing all by myself with the fallen bodies of my brothers-in-arms strewn around me (Trubbs was there too, he's my brother) and this MASSIVE gigantic dude-- I've seen TROLLS that were smaller-- did you hear about the time with me and the troll?"  
  
"Um, well, I haven't been keeping up with the LEP, in fact I was alone in Japan-"  
  
"HUGE tusks, eyes of flame, muscles like bowling balls, its CLAWS alone were bigger than-- Oh, but I was telling you about the goblins!" Grub bounced in excitement, knocking the wind out of Kitsune. "So there I was, facing down a cheerleading squad of goblins, with their fireballs and their pom-poms-- thankfully they were distracted--"  
  
"Beating me up," Kitsune wheezed.  
  
"Yeah, beating on you, right--" One of Grub's flamboyant hand gestures caught in an IV, and knocked over, in quick succession, two drip stands, a clipboard, a small, innocent potted plant, a random tray of nasty-looking medical instruments, and, finally, the trip lever for the hospital bed.   
  
Kitsune yelped as the IV yanked out of his arm; his sixth sense was picking up nagging feelings of impending doom. That was happening quite a lot recently.  
  
Predictably, the bed collapsed, taking the rest of the room with it. Well, that's not quite true, the ceiling stayed up and the floor was only slightly chipped. But the walls did take a beating, and the potted plant would never be the same again.  
  
The medic (ironically enough, it was the same male warlock as last time) stuck his head in and saw two dazed forms within the rubble; one had long spiky red hair, the other had short tousled pink hair with brownish roots showing. Kitsune and Grub contrived to look innocent, yet slightly sheepish.   
  
"He did it." Grub instantly pointed to Kitsune.  
  
Kitsune screamed. "Freaking... fairy! You just poked me in the eye!" He clapped his hands over his eyes and crumpled dramatically.  
  
"I can see we'll be wanting morphine all around!" the medic said brightly.  
  
"But, but, I'm not sick," Grub cringed.  
  
The medic got a dangerous look in his eye. Grub gulped. Kitsune popped one eye open and sniggered.   
  
=================================================================  
  
It dawned on Retired Admiral Walter Kelp Hamlet Scrimshaw (Atlantean Ambassador) that this terribly young, disgustingly determined young elf, with the glint of humor and/or madness in her hazel eyes, was not really a banker after all.   
  
It was when she grabbed him by the lapels and started gibbering about the Netherworld Flamingo, cellophane and a rescue parrot that he began to think this. Scrimshaw began to have glimmerings of a terrible and awful thought. He might have to listen to her.  
  
He'd never liked young people, especially not the caffeine-crazed, obsessive, generally weird little rats that were being produced today.  
  
Everywhere Scrimshaw looked he saw entropy. A female captain in the LEP, for example. Holly Short! What a disgrace. Then that little minx, Opal Koboi, who had usurped her hardworking father -- Scrimshaw had approved of Ferall Koboi, and often saw him at charity benefits. And a few months ago, a group of young, college-age sprites and pixies had actually protested a Council decision against flying in the streets.   
  
Publicly opposing the Council! Goodness sakes, it would never have happened in Frond's day.  
  
(Speaking of, Scrimshaw was perfectly fine with Lili Frond being in the LEP. Sweet girl. Knew her place. Called him "Uncle Walter" and danced with him at parties.)  
  
Caspian was continuing with the obscene blitheness of youth, "This tunnel -- it's freaking big enough for a troll to get through! And the worst part is, we have no idea where it leads... We just know that if you're Vice Corporal Fallacy and immune to common sense, you'll end up in the Arctic Circle... we think he caught fire somewhere along the way, 'cuz of the scorchmarks, but that could have just been normal. It being Fallacy and all."  
  
Damn this little -- the Arctic? The Arctic Circle? Scrimshaw suddenly felt himself intensely interested. "Look here, you young cur, why didn't you tell us this sooner?!"  
  
Caspian seemed unfazed. "Well, it only opened up about a year ago, after the B'wa Kell shoved a bomb through the plumbing. To tell you the truth we didn't notice it until Fallacy went into the kitchen looking for the dishwasher and he sort of fell in. So we covered it up with cellophane and duct tape and forgot about it."  
  
"Hmn." Scrimshaw sat back. "Actually... that could be important. The Arctic, you say?"  
  
=================================================  
  
When we last abandoned Lili to the whims of a scene change, she was being blinded by a bright light. Amusing though it would be to leave her there, we will now restore her vision and continue her part.  
  
The bright light died down to reveal a Barbie doll, if Barbie was three feet tall and had sparkly wings.  
  
Lili blinked.   
  
And blinked again. And blinked some more, and rubbed her eyes, and whimpered. "Ow."  
  
The Tooth Fairy rolled the lovely, sapphire blue, almond-shaped, velvet-lashed orbs of her eyes.  
  
"Lili," she intoned, and the author is too busy retching melodramatically to describe the Tooth Fairy's lovely, well-balanced, tuneful voice.   
  
"Y-Yes?"   
  
"I have a great task for you, Lili. And you... you are the only one who can fulfill it."  
  
Holding onto the doorway, Takaban had pulled himself together. Mimicking the actions of the author and readers, he rolled his own eyes expressively.  
  
The Tooth Fairy ignored him; her voice went on rapturously, angelically. "Because of your blood, Lili. Because Frond's legacy repeats itself in you..."  
  
Lili was nodding like her head was on strings. From the doorway came a barely audible "Oh, *please.*"  
  
"You may not know it, but destiny has chosen you to restore the ancient reign of Frond--" The Tooth Fairy scowled petulantly. "Excuse me a moment. Takaban!"  
  
Takaban had given up being subtle, and was now weakly beating his head against the doorframe.  
  
"Takaban, what the hell are you doing?"  
  
He had the crazy-birdy look in his eyes -- the deranged glare that has been passed down in the Aves order since the first nightmarish, Jurassic-Park Kill-O-Raptor suddenly decided to devote the next million years of its life to growing feathers, hopping around and going 'tweet.' "Attempting to kill myself so I don't have to listen to this sickening rubbish. Any other sane person would, too."  
  
Lili turned to scowl at him as well, her entire body language allying herself with the Tooth Fairy. Takaban didn't fail to notice this.  
  
"Except her. Completely under your thrall. Excuse me while I retch. Actually... I think I really am going to be sick...."   
  
"That's enough!" The Tooth Fairy snapped, raising a threatening hand. Takaban limped out of the doorway just as the door slammed shut with decapitating force. A few ratty feathers caught in the doorjamb and scattered across the floor. Feeling truly ts for over a day.   
  
Oh well. Maybe this time it would be different.  
  
------------------------------  
  
And Now, Back to Our Bob  
  
-------------------------------  
  
Before leaving, Mel Thorn had put Bob in a large stewpot that she'd managed to find. (Holly kept it around for punch-making purposes, although she never made punch.) Then she went away, singing.  
  
Now Bob the Atlantean Bogglefish was confronted with a new dilemma; The New Stewpot.  
  
What to do? What to say? What to think? Bob's brain promptly fizzed out, overloaded by the day's excitement. Frantically his little neurons struggled to survive. When Bob woke up, he was floating on his back and hiccuping.  
  
Hiccup. Stream of bubbles. Astonished boggle. (What ARE those?)  
  
Hiccup. Stream of bubbles. Incredulous boggle. (Good God! There are more of them!)  
  
Hiccup. Stream of bubbles. Suspicious boggle. (I need a life.)  
  
Bob promptly set out to Get a Life. This consisted of bonking heroically into the sides of the stewpot. Thankfully bogglefish have very resilient noses, as they are always doing things like that.  
  
Bob bonked for a while, then lay back and stared up at the ceiling. (Mein Gott! What is a ceiling?).  
  
The very existence of Atlantean Bogglefish (Gogglus piscus) has caused several debates to break out among the more philosophical fairies. Evolution versus Creation versus Randomism.  
  
Some fairies hold out that Bogglefish disprove Evolution. "Bogglefish can kill themselves by forgetting that they can breathe underwater. When threatened by a predator, they pretend to be food. When they manage to reproduce it's mostly accidental, and then they accidentally inhale their offspring. Try telling THEM about survival of the fittest. They had to be Created."  
  
Some fairies hold out that Bogglefish disprove Creation. "If you believe in Creation, you have to believe in the grand scheme of things, where every living creature is a thread in a complex tapestry. In the Grand Tapestry of Life, the Atlantean Bogglefish is a piece of carpet lint that sort of stuck there. They must have Evolved, possibly from carpet lint."  
  
And some fairies hold to the school of thought called Randomism, which sometimes answers "42," and sometimes quotes a human named Terry Pratchett. Nobody understands the Randomists, so they must be right.   
  
------------------  
  
Vinyaya's Study  
  
-------------------  
  
Vinyaya paced back and forth in her study like a caged wildcat. A sudden thought struck her like a thunderbolt chucked by a particularly annoyed Roman god.  
  
There was more than one use for human ivory.  
  
Fairies have the Gift. Humans have their own magic...  
  
For some reason, she felt that Artemis Fowl was in danger.  
  
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Fowl Manor  
  
-----------------  
  
Artemis Fowl the Second stood with his slim hands clasped behind his back, as Butler unlocked the back door. It had been an incredibly long night; dawn was poetically beginning to streak the horizon. Rosy-fingered and all that. Artemis was ready for a good, long nap.  
  
During his brief hours underground, Artemis had Devised a Plan. He and Butler would return to Fowl Manor, where they would get some sleep. Meanwhile Root would gather a team to set up a time-stop. Once Artemis and Butler were rested enough for adventuring, they would drug the other inhabitants of Fowl Manor, set off for a prearranged shuttle, and wait to be collected by the LEP.   
  
That way everyone got a short break to rearrange their tired minds and Devise Devious Plans. And, with the timestop, Artemis's parents wouldn't be asking any uncomfortable questions -- like, "Where's Artemis?" "What kind of weapons are those?" "Why is there a shuttle on our lawn?"   
  
And, from our beloved Angeline Fowl: "Who are those rather dear little pointy-eared men scampering about on the lawn?" and "Arty dear, shouldn't you invite your little friends in for tea?"  
  
Artemis shuddered to think. It would be *much* better to have that timestop.   
  
Juliet, too, would have to go under. The less contact she had with the People, the better. Perhaps he would leave Mulch awake, to look after the fort. So many decisions to make.  
  
Butler finally got the complicated door open and held it for Artemis. They were entering secretively through the kitchen, as it would cause less disturbance.  
  
At least, that was the Plan. However, Fate has a weird little sense of humor.  
  
Artemis almost stepped on his father's head.  
  
"Helloooo, lil' Arty," Artemis the First (hereafter known as Mr. Fowl) greeted blithely from the linoleum. He was spreadeagled on the floor, drooling slightly as he gazed lovingly at the ceiling.  
  
Artemis the Second stared in shock.   
  
"And there's But.. Buh... Bull... Bullter... Big-Guy! Too!" Mulch managed to say. He was lying on the stovetop in much the same way, staring at the ceiling in unfocused awe.  
  
"Dear... dear boy." Mr. Fowl pulled the stunned Artemis to the floor. "Look-- look-- LOOK at this. Just LOOK at it."  
  
"Look at what, Father?" Artemis mumbled in shock.  
  
"The sky... plaster... floor... big... top... thing." Mr. Fowl closed his eyes. "It's... it's too BIG for words."  
  
"Ceiling?" Butler supplied, staring at the prone human and dwarf.  
  
"Ceiling!" Mulch promptly burst into grimy tears.   
  
Mr. Fowl opened his eyes, saw the ceiling, and started sobbing. "Oh Lord! The ceiling!"  
  
"Father...?" Artemis whispered through dry lips. "What about the ceiling?"  
  
"It... it's so..." Mr. Fowl grabbed Artemis's shoulder, pulling himself into a sitting position. He stared at Artemis with religious zeal. "It's so... beautiful."  
  
Mulch sob probably picturing right now. Pure Bogglefish Shock. Priceless, really priceless. A Kodak moment. Bob would be proud.  
  
"It's astounding," Mr. Fowl whimpered, "How UP it is."  
  
He struggled to rise; a dazed Butler helped him up. "Look at it, son. Look... and marvel."  
  
Three humans and a dwarf stared up at the ceiling. Mr. Fowl and Mulch looked at it like it was a choir of angels. Artemis and Butler looked at it in confusion, brains whimpering.  
  
"Er, Mr. Fowl, would you like to go to bed?" Butler tried. He took his senior employer by the elbow and gently escorted him out.  
  
As they walked out of the kitchen door, Mr. Fowl blinked at the hallway. His gaze traveled upwards.  
  
"OH my GOD! The CEILING!"  
  
Artemis decided that the minute he was turning eighteen, he was going to America or somewhere. It got so tiring, being the only sane one in the family.  
  
===================  
  
Scrimshaw's Office  
  
===================  
  
The Atlantean Ambassador made a phone call.   
  
"Hello, dear girl. How have you been? How's your campaign? Good, good, brilliant. Julius giving you any trouble? Yes, he's found out what you're doing. No, I don't think he's connected it to you yet... yes, dear, this is a secure line. Yes, I'm sure."  
  
There was a pause. Scrimshaw rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What banging, thumping and muffled cursing?" he sighed into the telephone.  
  
From the corner of his office came the scrape of metal, something that sounded like someone hopping while tied to a chair, and the sound of someone saying "D'Arvit" through a bandanna.  
  
"Oh. THAT banging, thumping and muffled cursing." Scrimshaw shot a dirty look into the corner. "That was a young elf who just got what she deserved."  
  
"MMFF!" said the young elf, who didn't look like she enjoyed getting what she deserved. Caspian was tied to the chair in the classic hostage-in-a-bad-movie position. She started hopping towards the bathroom.  
  
Scrimshaw continued talking on the phone. "She had some quite interesting information for us, you know. It could quite possibly turn the tide for your campaign... there's a tunnel. A secret tunnel into Haven, which starts out in some despicably random nightclub and ends up quite near your headquarters. Yes, quite near, I'm sure. Yes, it is useful, isn't it?"  
  
There was a loud 'sploosh' from the bathroom. Scrimshaw's alligator loafers filled with water.  
  
"I'm sorry dear, I have to go. I think the little brat's just destroyed the water main."  
  
=====================  
  
Artemis's Bedroom  
  
=====================  
  
Artemis loosened his tie, gazing out his window at the poetic dawn.   
  
So much to think about. Plans to make.   
  
He smoothed the silk tie and hung it up. In the past twenty-four hours he'd been punched, escaped a magma flare, and held Holly's hand. In the past week he'd staked out a bank and learned of an impending sibling.  
  
Eurgh, no. Artemis tried not to think of the impending sibling. He was a criminal mastermind. He liked control.   
  
He pulled off his shoes and lined them up by his bed. Carefully. Toes perfectly even. Peeled back the upper layer of his sheets, carefully climbed into bed. Stared at the ceiling. Tried to sleep. Couldn't stop thinking.  
  
Should I leave Mulch awake?  
  
It seems wrong, putting my family to sleep...   
  
No one to guard them...  
  
It's always me. It's always me looking after all the others. And they never notice.   
  
I think too much. I need to relax.  
  
I'll give myself a heart attack just like Root.  
  
... I wonder if the fairies would save me?  
  
=====================  
  
Hospital Room  
  
=====================  
  
"DUDE! Little pawny dude! Like, dead! Aiee!"  
  
Grub and Fallacy were sitting on Kitsune's bed, playing chess. They'd decided he needed Cheering Up while some of his more major bones mended. Kitsune was attempting to read. Obviously it wasn't working.  
  
"So there I was," Grub started up again around a mouthful of potato chips, "Facing down an entire gang of goblins and trolls."  
  
"Dude, your king can't, like, do that. Like."  
  
"Yes he can, he's got a machine gun, see?"  
  
"Oh. Dude." Fallacy pulled out a small toy truck and used it to run over half of Grub's pawns. "Like, half your army perished in, like, a horrible car accident."  
  
"Aw, man. We didn't have insurance either." Grub reached for another handful of chips; almost all of them ended up in his mouth. He reached for his soda, which spilled all over the chessboard. Kitsune groaned and started beating himself on the head with his book.  
  
Fallacy peered at the soda spill. "Dude, like, my bishop perished in, like, a terrible flash flood of soda. Dude."  
  
Kitsune sat bolt upright and started screaming in Japanese. "Will you STOP saying 'LIKE?' GET a freaking DICTIONARY! I'm not even a NATIVE and I speak better than you do! Shut UP!"  
  
The two small fairies stared at him like bunny rabbits.   
  
"Dude," Grub squeaked in terror.  
  
"GAH!" Kitsune screamed. This caused the bed to fall over.  
  
Vice Corporal Fallacy lifted the mattress off his head and squinted at the ruins of the chessboard. "Dude, like, our entire armies were wiped out in, like, a massive ground-shaky thing."  
  
From beneath a pile of crumpled rods, Kitsune rubbed his temples and whimpered. "Earthquake?"   
  
"Dude."  
  
================================================================  
  
AUTHOR RANT  
  
Caspian: MMMFFF!  
  
Kitsune: Ha ha, she got herself tied to a chair! She got herself tied to a chair! Neener neener!  
  
Takaban: Which means... it's up to us to do the author rant.  
  
Bob: O.O ((I need a makeup crew!)) (bounces off in his water-filled fish-ball)  
  
Takaban: (bored beyond belief) The author realizes that we original characters have played large parts in this chapter. She hopes that this will not prove troublesome. Also, Kitsune has taken Blue Yeti's Mary Sue Litmus Test, and is now officially slightly below a Borderline Gary Stu.  
  
Kitsune: Oh yes, I'm SO developed, me.  
  
Caspian: Mmph, mm fuffle fff! Mf-mail!  
  
Takaban: Oh yes. Trixi AKA Bubbly Hooplah, please email Caspian, since she can't find you anywhere.   
  
Kitsune: Same goes for Meade. What? (looks at clipboard) Mee-ah-dee. Meed. May-aid? Meedee-- Me-ade?  
  
Takaban: (clutching hair) MEADE.  
  
Kitsune: Ah yes, we can't find your email either. (Silly Fido!)  
  
Takaban: (still bored out of his skull) Also, this is the first chapter to be heralded by the Ivory Files Mailing List... the ML is just a newsletter that you can get, telling you when we're updated. None of this messing about with Yahoo, because it gives Bob migraines. If you want to be informed of updates, email us.   
  
Opal: You know, with Cas out of commission, we get her email account!  
  
Caspian: NNH!  
  
Opal: It's caspian_scholar@hotmail.com.   
  
Caspian: NGG!  
  
Takaban: Think we should ungag her?  
  
Kitsune: Actually, I like her better this way... 


	15. The LongAwaited Fifteenth Chapter

Well, this Artemis-centric chapter took its own sweet time in coming out. Artemis has a dream, Grub snuggles, somebody screams, and Caspian bubbles. Excitement! Drama! Pink wires! Silmarils!  
  
The Ivory Files  
  
by Caspian Nyghtvision  
  
Chapter Fifteen: The Fifteenth Chapter  
  
====================================================================  
  
"Broken in two  
  
I know you're onto me  
  
That I only come home  
  
When I'm so all alone  
  
But I do believe  
  
And not everything is gonna be the way   
  
You think it ought to be  
  
It seems like every time I try to make it right   
  
It all comes down on me  
  
Please say honestly you won't give up on me  
  
And I shall believe.  
  
I shall believe."  
  
-- "I Shall Believe," Sheryl Crow  
  
"There's a certain kind of pain that can numb you.  
  
There's a type of freedom that can tie you down.  
  
Sometimes the unexplained can define you  
  
And sometimes the silence is the only sound."  
  
-- "Hanging by a Thread," Nickel Creek  
  
=====================================================================  
  
"Well, I don't suppose I can detain you any longer," the medic said disapprovingly, eying the disreputable trio.   
  
Fallacy had been struck by an out-of-character moment of sanity; he sat quietly in a corner and fashioned a Superman cape out of the bilious hospital-room curtains. He composed a theme song to himself.  
  
"Fallacy-dude, he's the bravest of the brave.  
  
He's got jabberwocks to defeat  
  
And pretty Grubs to save.  
  
Sometimes things get in his way,  
  
Like strange blue squirrels named Dave.  
  
But Fallacy doesn't mind.  
  
He's the bravest of the brave."  
  
Some poor soul had given Grub soap and water to clean up the soda spill, and the small elf had poured it all over the floor to make a skating rink. He was currently sliding around in bare feet, slipping on the soap, crashing into things, injuring himself, and getting back up to do it again. Perhaps the famous rapid-healing powers of the People weren't such a blessing after all.   
  
Kitsune stared at the ceiling, gibbering quietly in Japanese and frothing slightly at the corners of the mouth. While making strangling motions in the air with his hands, he inadvertently set his IV's and part of the ceiling tile on fire.   
  
"Right then. Out you go." The medic whacked Grub on the head with his clipboard and tossed him into the all. "All of you, out. I'm not wasting any more charity morphine on you people when there's perfectly good earthquake victims to make money off of."  
  
"What?" Kitsune asked in confusion as he was given his things and shoved out the door. "Um, Random-Medic-san... what are we supposed to do now?"  
  
In reply, the medic chased them out of the halls with a clipboard. Fallacy barely had time to put on his new cape. The three of them stood in the street, looking lost.  
  
"Don't worry, big guy. Fallacy 'n' I'll take good care of you." Grub attempted to drape his arm over Kitsune's shoulder in a manly, brotherly fashion. Unfortunately for Kitsune's dignity, Grub Kelp stood slightly under three feet tall, while Kitsune stood about five foot one. Grub ended up cuddling Kitsune's waist like Pepe le Pew and that cat he was always chasing.   
  
"DamnDAMNdamnDAMNdamndamn." Kitsune started strangling the air again, but stopped when he set his own hair on fire.  
  
Grub looked injured. "What, don't you want our help?"  
  
"Not really, no. And stop that... snuggling. It's disturbing."  
  
===========================================================  
  
--- In his dream, Artemis stood in a dark room. In front of him was a pot filled with an odd kind of liquid. It was purplish-brown, the bubbles in it whizzing up, rocketing down, and bouncing violently off each other, or fizzing noisily up to the frothing top in a chaotic lime-green cloud. Occasionally it seemed to roil pink, but it was hard to tell in this dim light.---  
  
--- In the dream, he spoke. 'Butler, I believe it is ready. Now we need to test it with metal.' ---  
  
--- With great ceremony, Butler produced Mulch Diggums. Holding the dwarf upside down, the manservant slapped him heartily on the rear. Several spoons fell out of Mulch's various pockets. Artemis accepted one and dipped it into the liquid. Excitement surged through him; he could hardly keep his hand still. 'This, old friend, is the moment of truth.' ---  
  
--- Artemis withdrew the spoon. The metal had turned to purest gold, shedding droplets like liquid light. He turned it back and forth in the light, marveling. His dream-voice strangled with uncharacteristic emotion, he choked, 'I have done it, Butler! I have discovered the long-lost secret of the fairies! I, Artemis Fowl the Second, have discovered ALCHEMY!' ---  
  
--- Time to wake up...---  
  
----------------  
  
For some obscure reason, it was time to wake up. Artemis the Second did not particularly know why; his body was just sending him very urgent signals. With great reluctance, he tore himself away from the fascinating dream and swam blearily towards consciousness, passing through several dream fragments on the way.  
  
Artemis opened his eyes to find his father standing by his bed, tousling his hair in a fatherly way. There was a cheerful smile on the man's face, a lively glint in his indigo eyes. 'Time to wake up,' he smiled.  
  
Artemis peered at his father muzzily, closed his eyes, and reopened them experimentally. His vision blurred in the weird light between sleeping and waking, when one isn't sure if one is still dreaming. This time it was Holly Short who stood over him, an odd, tender smile on her face as she ran her fingers through his hair. 'Time to wake up, Artemis,' she whispered.  
  
It was a pleasant dream, but Artemis had things to do, so he opened his eyes again. Holly turned into a small creature in a black jumpsuit. It ran its fingers through his hair again, got a tighter grip on the slippery, expensively conditioned strands, and pulled his head back. A weapon of some sort pressed against his chin.  
  
"Go back to sleep, Mud Boy," it said menacingly. Artemis thought the menace was unnecessary. After all, it was the one with the gun. It didn't need to say anything at all to be menacing. Well, it was only a dream; and as Dr. Po would say, dreams are allowed to be irrational.  
  
"Stop fighting it," the being said, more softly this time, with layers to its voice like a chocolate cake. "Sleep."  
  
His dreams were being very strange tonight. He would have to remember them in the morning.  
  
Some spark in his mind, the one that had woken him up, was telling Artemis rather frantically that something was wrong. But his body was sleepily shooing his mind away and drifting back into unconsciousness. It was like wandering through dark fog.  
  
The being in the black jumpsuit rolled its eyes. "Bloody Mud Boys," it stated to the bedroom in general. It set the gun against his jugular, setting its power output all the way past the 'You Might Feel A Slight Shock' setting to 'Just About Powerful Enough to Kill A Stinkworm."  
  
Artemis fought with himself. His mind had woken itself up and was running a system analysis. There was something. Something wrong. Holly? No. It was someone else... but he couldn't open his eyes, his body was betraying him and staying in the exact same state of half-awakeness.   
  
Same state of half-awakeness... this meant something. This meant something very important that was connected to the figure in his bedroom. But Artemis could not think farther; he could not wake up any more.  
  
The gun's trigger went back just as Artemis's eyes opened, looking almost black in the growing light. And in that moment the being regretted pulling the trigger. Something in its basic nature winced at hurting a young human. Not a debilitating wince, just a standard "Oh dear, they really are a lot like us, such a pity they're a race of ignorant lunatics, it's a bit like shooting a very large, mentally-challenged, greedy baby" wince.  
  
Oh well. Too late for second thoughts. The boy fought for an instant, then slumped back, stunned. His dark eyes flared wide enough to swallow goldfish, then slowly closed, eyelashes locking together like the tendrils of bird feathers.  
  
"Beautiful Mud Boy," the fairy whispered as it slid him off the bed.  
  
-------------------------------------------------------  
  
Commander Root's Home  
  
--------------------------------------------------------  
  
Vinyaya had been here a few times and was always amazed that the Public Health And Sanitation And Clean Air And Other Stuff For Your Own Good Committee hadn't quarantined the place. It was quite a nice building, though she'd never seen the inside of it; just Root in the doorway and a whole lot of smoke. She wasn't sure if he lived in a huge condo or a small apartment; she wasn't even sure if Root lived with anyone. Oddly, she had never found the right time to ask.  
  
"Something's wrong with Fowl."  
  
"Something's always wrong with Fowl."  
  
Vinyaya didn't say anything; she just gave him a Look, her catlike eyes narrowed, her eyebrows cocked and alert. It was rather terrifying.  
  
"You'll be seeing omens in phlegm pots next," Root mumbled, his dark brown eyes sliding off into middle distance somewhere.  
  
"I'm not pretending to be psychic. I'm just... tying things together. It was wrong of us to let him go back. He's in danger now."  
  
"The child," Root said icily, "Is always in danger. If he isn't in danger, he's figuring out how to get into danger. This is none of our business." He began to shut the door.  
  
"No, D'Arvit, Julius!" Vinyaya slammed her slight body against the door. "What the hell's wrong with you? You used to be a wildcard! You used to be cool, for crying out loud!" Her voice dropped, taking on a sly tone. "I suppose it might be all the extra weight you're carrying around these days... what with that and your age, it must be hard to get excited about things anymore..."   
  
There was a slight, pregnant pause.  
  
Root opened the door again, having somehow managed to belt on his Official Gun, holster his matched pair Neutrino pistols, throw on his helmet, and conceal the various bits of random unofficial weaponry that he always seemed to have on hand when they were needed. He was in uniform, of course. Root was one of those people who seemed to have been born in uniform. He presumably took it off to bathe, but of course nobody thought of that, because they didn't want to imagine Root bathing.  
  
"I have my guns now. What are we doing?" he said calmly.  
  
---------------  
  
RANDOM EXPOSITION  
  
--------------  
  
In the old days of humanity...  
  
Not the old days of humanity a couple of decades ago, when the loonies of the previous generation thought that DDT and shag carpeting were good ideas. Those are actually not very old.  
  
The really old days. Millenia ago. The Dark Ages.  
  
When rowan was tied above the doorways. When holy water was worth more than gold and iron was laid in children's beds. When people went to bed as soon as the light left, because these were the Dark Ages after all, and the dark night belonged to Other People.   
  
And the humans put out bowls of milk on the doorstep for the Other People, because cows don't want just anybody messing around with their udders, and fairies need milk to make cheese to keep the Bog Pizzeria in business.  
  
It was a good enough arrangement. But sometimes the deals would be broken and a human child would be stolen from its bed. Because humans have their own powers, which the fairies never really understood. And sometimes there would be a fairy that more lust for power than common sense, and it would wrap its long little fingers around a child's hand and steal it away.  
  
Ooh. Foreshadowing.  
  
--------------  
  
Fowl Manor  
  
---------------  
  
Outside of Fowl Manor glowed a beautiful blue time-stop. Shimmering like the wings of a morpho butterfly, it swallowed up the ancient house like a thing that swallows very big houses.  
  
Everything within the time-stop remained in the state it had been in when the glowing blue bubble went up. Mice were awake, scurrying around in the random mindless way of mice everywhere. Angeline Fowl was asleep, her hair spread over the pillow and one long thin arm thrown over the sleeping form of her husband. We do not want to go there. Parent/lovers are just too squicky. But they would not wake up until the bubble broke up.  
  
Butler was sleeping. His Sig Sauer was under his pillow, his breathing was deep, visions of sugarplums were dancing in his head. He would not leave the REM state until the bubble broke up.  
  
Artemis was semi-conscious and would remain so, struggling to wake, but his body unable to do so. The fairy captors (more of them had entered the room) did not bother with tying him up; they began to drag his body to a hover-trolley that was waiting outside the window.  
  
"I'm worried about this," worried one Fairy Captor. "What if Butler wakes up?"  
  
"Butler won't wake up, you minion. The time stop, remember?" hissed a different F.C.. This was the original one, who had shot Artemis. It seemed impatient.  
  
"But, but, I'm scared. What about the burglar system?"  
  
"Shut up and get his arm. Trix, you're taking care of the alarm, right?"  
  
An obviously junior fairy stood on the windowsill, its terrified little voice quavering through its helmet. Shaking hands held a pair of pliers to a tiny circuit in the windowpane. "I think so. I cut the blue wire and twisted the chartreuse wire around the fuschia one, which should short-circuit the, er, alarm for this window. Unless, of course, um, I was supposed to tie the fuschia one around the blue one and strip the taupe one, in which cause, um, we're screwed. No, wait, strip the pink one and twist the--"  
  
"D'Arvit, you two are so unprofessional it makes me sick." The Impatient F.C. snarled. "All right, on the count of three, we lift--"  
  
"Wait! What about the invitation?" the Worried F.C. burst out.  
  
The Impatient Fairy Captor dropped Artemis's head on the floor. The boy bounced, but could not wake. Placing gloved hands on its hips, the Impatient F.C. turned to face its Worried comrade. "What about the invitation?"  
  
"Um, who was supposed to, um, deal with it?"  
  
There was a long pause.  
  
"Trix is doing the alarms. Spud is steering the hovertrolley. Figgin is maintaining the time stop and Trillium is driving the getaway. I broke in and made sure the Mud Boy was neutralized." The Impatient Fairy Captor let the pause stretch on for several heartbeats. "Now, Marcus, who do you think was supposed to deal with the invitation?"  
  
Marcus the Inept Dwarf -- for it was he! -- thought about this.  
  
"You were," the Impatient F.C. seethed impatiently.  
  
"Oh."   
  
"You do realize we're in a time limit here?! You do realize that it's only because of these --" here the Impatient F.C. tapped the shining, silvery tooth-shaped badge on its collarbone -- "That we got in at ALL? D'Arvit, go DEAL with the INVITATION!"  
  
"Okay..." Marcus trudged off, chastised.  
  
"And HURRY!"  
  
Marcus trudged hurriedly through the halls of Fowl Manor...  
  
---  
  
The fairies had assumed that humans, being diurnal, would go to sleep at night. It made sense. They assumed that everyone in Fowl Manor would be quietly, docilely asleep when they set up their time stop. They hadn't bothered to check.  
  
They had forgotten that the house contained a hyperactive teenage girl with a computer.   
  
The computer had an Internet connection. At the other end of the Internet connection was a rabid Tolkien fan with a new disciple to instruct.  
  
Technically, the time-stop disrupted the 'Net, but for some reason, the IM program was working fine. It might have been because it was running before the bubble was set up. The world may never know. But it was working.  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: ... and so Luthien and Beren stole the Silmaril from Morgoth's iron crown.  
  
JadePrincess: ... Tell me again who Morgoth is?  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: THE MENTOR OF SAURON!!  
  
JadePrincess: Giant Flaming Eye Boy?  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: YES!!  
  
JadePrincess: Then who was that creepy guy in white with the totally nasty manicure?  
  
Juliet -- aka JadePrincess -- stopped typing long enough to look around. It was very late, but she wasn't tired at all. In fact, she felt almost exactly the same. She turned back to the computer, where the virtual ravings of her mentor were filling up the screen.  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: SARUMAN! SARUMAAAAAN!!  
  
JadePrincess: Excuse me a mo, I'm gonna check my email.  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: SARUUU-- Bah.  
  
Juliet looked at the computer suspiciously and hit it. The Web page stayed the same; frozen and jittery. She shook the mouse and hit some random buttons. Nothing happened.  
  
The blonde stood up, her legs cramping, and went to the back of the computer. She put her ear to the little fan, gave the computer a few gentle duffs, and prodded the modem. The Web page stayed totally frozen. What's more, the computer clock had apparently stopped hours ago... at least it felt like hours ago... sort of.  
  
"Weird." She scratched her head, thinking. A lifetime spent with her brother and the Fowls had taught her that weird little things often meant weird big things. And she had felt something like this before.  
  
JadePrincess: Hey Evil, I gotta go.  
  
EvillyBrilliantFemmeFatale: -- And Elwing, mother of Elros and Elrond, jumped off a cliff with the OTHER Silmaril and spontaneously turned into a seagull, which -- Bah. Fine. Go. DON'T learn about Middle Earth's impressive back history. See if I care.  
  
Juliet shook her ponytail in disbelief and left the room.   
  
-----  
  
Marcus the Inept Dwarf trundled quickly through the halls, using a handy positioning device to figure out where he had to go. He stopped at the door to Angeline's study, clamped a device to the lock, and was inside within seconds.  
  
In a pink hat box in the right-hand corner of Angeline's junk closet was a collection of things from Artemis's infancy. Fairy-sized socks, weird little bonnet things, random things that sentimental mothers keep. Artemis's first fingerpainting; Artemis's first book; Artemis's first microchip; Artemis's first dissertation. A collection of Obligatory Humiliating Baby Pictures That Parents Keep For Some Obscure Legal Reason, Possibly Blackmail; Baby Artemis eating caviar with his fingers with the bowl upside down on his head, Baby Artemis naked and glowering in the bathtub, Baby Artemis sitting in Santa's lap and looking terrified, Baby Artemis eating crayons, Baby Artemis eating Daddy's Savings Bonds. These were rather hilarious, and Marcus was tempted to snitch one or two and post them on the Internet.   
  
But it wasn't what he'd come for. He'd come for the little vial in the box, filled with a dozen tiny pearly objects. Angeline had kept Artemis's baby teeth, which was how Marcus and his companions had managed to get in. 'Tooth Fairies' had a neat little loophole in the invitation system.  
  
Marcus carefully put the vial into a lead-lined jar, and placed a small worthless coin in the hat box. Invitation ritual dealt with, time to get out.  
  
On impulse he grabbed one of the pictures. You never know when you might need Embarrassing Personal Information.  
  
-----  
  
One other inhabitant of the house was still awake. Well, if we aren't counting the various rodents, insects, and the ancient and venerable badger that lived in the wine cellar.  
  
Mulch Diggums was nocturnal, and, deprived of his drinking partner, his drinks and his Ceiling, was wandering around in a state of Phase Six Drunkenness. He should have moved on to unconsciousness and drooling by now, but, you know, the time stop.  
  
He was currently arguing with a creepy painting of Aobhain Fowl the Fifth.  
  
"An', an', an' shtop lookin at me like tha.' I'm a, I'm a thingy, armadillo. Anthrax. Armada. No. Yah, thash right, you there, stinky vampire person. I see ya lookin at me. I'm Dilch Muggims, an,' an,' an,' I forget. But stop lookin at me like -- you're doin' it! STOP LOOKING AT ME!"  
  
Mulch staggered away, into a marble bust of Adonis Fowl. The resulting screech and crash would have woken the dead, if it hadn't been for the time stop. The marble bust rocked on its pedestal and gave Mulch a stony glare.   
  
"AAAH! Creepy marbly zombie person! Don't look at meee..."  
  
The statue continued to stare disapprovingly. Mulch began to weep.  
  
"Noooo... Vampire Zombie Fowl People, everywheeeeere...."  
  
----  
  
Juliet sprang into Artemis's room like a very angry, armed blonde person defending her turf in the very early morning. She had no gun, but the butcher knife in her hand had a cold, primal glitter in the starlight.  
  
The Fairy Captors jumped about a foot in the air and scattered. Trix, the incompetent burglar-alarm hacker, screamed and fell off the windowsill. Fortunately, the young fairy landed on the hover trolley outside.  
  
The Impatient Fairy Captor dropped Artemis again (he bounced) and whipped out its Neutrino, firing with definite intent to kill. Improbably, Juliet dodged, flattening gracefully to the floor. She sprang up on one hand and tackled the fairy without hesitation. The gun went skidding off into a corner.   
  
Girl and fairy locked together on the floor. Juliet was bigger, but the fairy was wiggly, and it pulled out its buzz baton. Juliet had managed to keep her butcher knife, and fended off the sparking baton. She pressed her hand to the fairy's face, blinding and smothering it.   
  
Such a little face, barely bigger than a baby's... she didn't really want to squish it.  
  
The fairy grabbed the knife handle and slammed it backwards into Juliet's forehead.  
  
"Trix! Trix, dammit!" The Impatient Fairy Captor wriggled out from Juliet's weight. "Help me get the kid on the trolley! We have to get out NOW!"  
  
Trix staggered in through the windowsill, pointing and whimpering. "But. But. But Butler. Bad. Bub."  
  
"Just get him through the window."  
  
----  
  
"OH, Sweet TOAD on a STICK!" Mulch sprinted through the venerable halls, stalked by portraits of creepy Fowls. "They're EVERYWHERE! Aaaagh."   
  
Crash.  
  
Two dwarves extricated themselves from the pile of medieval armor and the stuffed polar bear.  
  
Mulch looked up muzzily, recognizing the dwarf who had run into him. He smiled blithely. "Marcus! How are you?"  
  
"Uhhh... good." Marcus got up and desperately tried to figure out which way was left.  
  
"Great! How are the kids?"  
  
"Uhhh.... I don't have any."  
  
"Wonderful! Imagine, you coming all this way just to visit little old me!"   
  
"Uh, yes. Hello, Mulch."  
  
"Now, it's funny, there was some reason why I wanted to talk to you a while ago, but I can't remember. I remember it seemed rather important at the time. Gee, that's funny." Mulch stroked his beard happily. "What was it?"  
  
Marcus got his bearings and took off at a dead run.  
  
"Oh... yes! You owe me money!" Mulch's mood promptly swung due murderous. "You owe me a quarter ton of gold, you bastard! Get back here!"  
  
He sprinted down the halls, shielding his face from the Vampire Zombie Portrait People.  
  
-----AND, ON THE OFF CHANCE YOU WERE WONDERING ABOUT CASPIAN---------  
  
Caspian sat in the back seat of the hovercar and bubbled. She was actually fuming, but she was so wet that it came out as sort of an enraged gurgling noise.  
  
After amusing herself by attempting to create an origami weapon out of a bit of magazine with both hands tied behind her back and her mouth gagged (Note to readers: It can't be done. Unless your idea of a weapon is the Soggy Crumpled Bit of Magazine that Gives You the Paper Cut of Doom) Caspian tried to pick the lock of the door with her toes. (Note to readers: This can be done quite easily, assuming the child lock is not on.) The child lock was on.  
  
Failing this, Caspian intrepidly rubbed her face against the seatbelt, which had been strapped across her chest, pinning her against the seat. She managed to work the gag down her chin, and the choked bubbling turned into swearing in various languages, all of which had an atrocious American accent.  
  
Once Caspian realized that nobody could possibly hear her cursing, she damned them all to hell and began to gnaw through the seatbelt.   
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Absolutely Shameless Plugging:  
  
Okay! It's been total eternities since my last post! I don't know why you put up with me! I have a few new fics out now, which were taking up a lot of time. Anyway...  
  
Item One: A Cowrite! Whee! The Eminent Spectra16 and I wrote an Artemis Fowl Humor Oneshot. Go read it, it's good for you. It's posted here: Two: The Ivory Files has another sister fic, "Action Fairy Unplugged" by Khana-Chan! A humor one-shot about the band, Fairypop and the Heat Sensors, and a live concert they give during an underground disaster. Three: Caspian and the Netherworld Flamingo have a cameo in the new chapter of That Aerin's "Heart of Time." You should read the fic anyway, it's one of the best OC's out there. Also starring... Noodlewhip! Four: Thanks to Black Knight, LizBeth37 and Blue Yeti, one of my fics got into Criminality. Whee! "Idiot Savant" can also be found here at ff.net. Humor/Drama/Parody/Angst. Worth a look, I think.  
  
For our anonymous reviewers... cheers, BeatlesLover. I don't know if you love me or hate me, but I'm glad for your reviews. They are appreciated, and I can't believe how quickly you seem to be reading the fic. Bob asked me to give you this flower. offers you a soggy flower Also, Meade's name is pronounced Mee-ADD. We think...  
  
As for Bubbly Hooplah... bursts into tears I've been TRYING! It's just HARD to write now! cries incoherently on your shoulder Mom... firing range... scizophrenia... writer's block... CANADA!  
  
Cheers to all reviewers, old and new. I love you all, and hope the next chapter comes out quicker. 


	16. Be It Fairy or Fowl

**Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files**

**By Caspian Nyghtvision**

Chapter 16 – Be it Fairy or Fowl

Dear Everyone: The reason this chapter came out so quickly is because, quite frankly, I feared for my life if I didn't update soon. Thus, it was started and completed in record time, and might not be so definitive. But, what do we care, it's got Bob in it. Ta for your reviews – over three hundred! I am boggled. I will start doing shout-outs at the end of each chapter; they're annoying, I know, but it's gotten too hard to email everyone. Love you all.

===================

"We danced in graveyards with vampires till dawn 

_we laughed in the faces of kings never afraid to burn_

_and I hate and I hate and I hate disintegration_

_watching us wither _

_black winged roses that safely changed their color_

_Oh these little earthquakes _

_Here we go again_

_Oh, these little earthquakes_

_Doesn't take much to rip us into pieces_

_I can't reach you I can't reach you_

_give me life give me pain give me myself again..."_

_                        --- Tori Amos, "Little Earthquakes"_

_(It's not supposed to make sense.)_

===================

Holly Walking Home 

===================

Holly walked home, ready for bed. It had been a long day... week... it had been a long month, actually, because that business with the baby troll had really chewed up her weekends...

A random earthquake victim spotted the acorn insignia on Holly's shoulder, and promptly began to blame her for everything from the downfall of the Lower Elements economy to the proliferation of swear toads to the earthquake's destruction of the victim's microwave.

Holly fobbed the victim off by giving them her marshmallows. We should not wonder where she got the marshmallows, or where she was hiding them. Since Holly is a junk food junkie, they were probably supposed to be her dinner. The world will never know.

Bereft of marshmallows and sick of getting blamed for everything just because she was on the Council's payroll, Holly's walk turned into a depressed trudge. Her head hung low, and her unwashed auburn hair dangled in front of her downcast eyes.

As it was, she wouldn't have noticed the goblin gang anyway, since they were Lurking so skillfully.

==================

Root and Vinyaya stood in the Classified Armory and marveled.

"So much weaponry."

"So very shiny."

Vinyaya turned to Root, looking slightly worried. "Are you sure we should be doing this?"

Root pretended to think. "We'll ask ourselves for clearance, and then we can give ourselves carte blanche. We can always demote ourselves if it doesn't work."

Vinyaya laughed. "Really, I wouldn't be a young junior officer again for all the weaponry in Haven."

Root sorted through a bin of nuclear-looking objects. "Hah. Look, a little mini bio-bomb!"

"Julius?"

"Eh?"

"'Carte blanche'? Perfect French coming from your mouth?"

"Oh, shut up."

==================

Holly ran away, breaking free of the gang and bolting like a stung deer. She darted through alleys and tube bridges like a bogglefish through brain coral, jumping over fallen parking meters and unconscious looters.

She was almost certain that she'd shaken off the goblin gang, but now she and her apartment were at polar opposites of the city.

This was the Far Northwest Bank of Haven, and the emergency lighting hadn't bothered to come on here. Far Northwest was a sort of No Fairy's Land, and it was eerily silent now.

It only took one misstep.

The pavement had been thrown up by the tremors, and it was quite dark. Holly could be forgiven for losing her balance. However, her resulting fall down an alley/staircase was in pure accordance with the Narrative Law of Evil Ironic Comedy.

==================================

Juliet hadn't been knocked unconscious; the time stop kept her hovering in a state of suspended, neuron-blistering pain. Trix, a junior fairy captor, goggled at her in obvious astonishment, stammering and occasionally formulating the word 'Butler.'

The fairies dragged Artemis through the window and dropped him out of it. Thankfully, Spud the hovertrolley driver noticed in time and caught him. Artemis bounced unceremoniously; he would have some strange bruises in the morning.

"D'Arvit, daylight's coming. Trix, put the Mud Girl down. You don't know where she's been."

Juliet's head began to clear, and her eyes uncrossed. Her dilated pupils fixed on Trix, and a primal growl built in her throat.

"Yep, time to go." The fairies hurriedly leapt out the window.

"Get back here!" Juliet's strangled scream followed the fairies as they frantically tried to work their comically inept hovertrolley. "Artemis! Artemis! Oh, _shite._"

==================================

In a disused warehouse, the battered goblin gang licked their wounds. Literally. There were whimpers, whines, and demands for Mommies. There were even a few healing sparks, but on the whole goblins aren't very good at healing themselves, and they knew it. It was better to splint a broken claw then to accidentally meld it into your nose.

The morale in the warehouse was low. But you had to admit that the furniture was arranged in pleasing patterns, and there was a general air of good 'chi.'

"Just a few more missions and we can get out of this mudhole." Cerebellum tried to be encouraging.

"But we like our mudhole..."

"Yeah, when the coffee's too thin we can just scrape stuff off the walls and add it--"

"And we just had the feng shui consultant in, too!"

"We'll get a better mudhole," Cerebellum said soothingly.

"Will it have good feng shui?"

"It probably won't. All the other mudholes have crappy 'chi.'"

"Yeah. Let's keep this place, and maybe get a nice new rug," said Random Goblin #5, diplomatically.

This concludes our random insight into the lives of Evil Bit Characters. We will now return to our regularly scheduled programming.

====================

Fowl Manor 

====================

"Marcusyoubassard. I'dneverdothissayou."

Juliet sat on Butler's bed and wept openly. "Dom, wake up, please. Please, they took Artemis and I can't do this alone. Dom, please!"

"Jus'wait'llIgetmyhandsonna, onna, thing. Bassard." Mulch shook his fist ineptly out the window.

"Oh, shut up, you stupid dwarf! You picked a hell of a time to get drunk!" Juliet grabbed Butler's pillow from under his unresponsive head and threw it at Mulch. She was a strong girl, and the dwarf fell over from the blow. Frankly, though, he was so far gone that a small draft would knock him over.

"Oh, thass'nice," Mulch said blithely.

Juliet didn't respond. She stared at the Sig Sauer she had found under the pillow.

_Sometimes you just have to take the initiative._

"Pretty window-thingies!"

"Hey Mulch?" Juliet said, interrupting the dwarf's curtain-induced babblings.

"Is-wha?"

"Where do you think they're taking him?"

"Who?"

"Artemis."

"Artemis?" Mulch reared back and looked at her as if he'd never seen her before. "Which?"

"The short one with, like, _two_ legs, who would be really hot if he wasn't so mean."

"Oh, the scowly  Mud Ferret?" Mulch made some nancing gestures that were supposed to look like Artemis being scowly and Mud-Ferret-ish, but looked more like a gay version of Edmund Blackadder. "I don't like lollipops, lah-de-dah, you are all inferior?"

"Yeah," Juliet said patiently. "Him."

"Well," Mulch said, nancing around Butler's bedroom, because nancing turned out to be surprisingly fun, "If a fairy wanted to take something they weren't supposed to have to a place where nobody would know they weren't supposed to have it, _everybody_ knows they would go to the Great Criminal Underground on Carbuncle Forty-Second."

"Which is where?"

"Oh, it's in Atlantis."

Juliet let several seconds pass. "Atlantis."

"Yeppedy-doo."

"Atlantis exists?"

"Elementary, my dear chippy."

"Like, where, exactly, is Atlantis?"

Mulch reared back and regarded her with one eye. "It's in the Atlantic."

Juliet groaned and let her head fall into her hands.

"Oh, don't worry," Mulch said calmly, nancing on tiptoe, "They're not taking him _there._"

"But you just said--"

"Well, yes, everyone _knows _the Great Criminal Underground is on Carbuncle Forty-Second in Atlantis in the Atlantic… so the exact place where a _smart_ fairy would _not_ go with something they're not supposed to have is the Great Criminal Underground--"

"Oh, okay, I get it! That makes, like, total sense. So where would they really go?"

"Exactly where everybody would not expect them not to go. Obviously." Mulch nanced over to the comatose Butler and sprinkled him with imaginary fairy dust.  "Tra-la. Maybe in an active volcano, but probably somewhere bloody cold, 'cause nobody would expect _that_."

Juliet frowned. "Er… Russia?"

"'Tis the most obvious of the obviously least obvious of our options."

"We already did Russia. Last time."

"Dwarves," Mulch said grandly, "Often fart in the same place twice. There is no reason for them not to fart the same."

================================

**If the Author Doesn't Put Bob In She May Get Lynched**

================================

Bob sucked on his fin and looked at the Seaweed.

The Seaweed did not look back at him.

Bob was hungry. He had not been fed for ages and ages and ages. He was so hungry that the normal cloud of amiable, boggling astonishment that he lived in had evaporated, leaving him with a repeated thought stuck in his head:

_Food. Food. Food. Food. Grapefruit!! No, food! Food? Food. Food, food, Food. What's that? Seaweed! No! Food. Food. Grapefruit plastic = food? No. Red-hair-yellow-eyes-elfie-Holly-person = food._

Bob sucked on his fin. Time for some serious, serious thought. He squinched one eye.

_Red-hair-yellow-eyes-elfie-Holly-person = food._

_Food = good._

_GRAPEFRUIT!_

_No grapefruit._

_Need food._

_Need food = need red-hair-yellow-eyes-elfie-Holly-person._

_Stupid Seaweed._

_Holly = not in Stewpot._

_Query: Where is Holly?_

==========================

**Far Northwest Bank, Haven City**

==========================

Holly's self-inflicted pain was keeping her awake, which was a very good thing, considering the circumstances.

Sweat dripped off her hooked nose as she carefully moved her leg back into its usual position -- a slight problem, given her shattered kneecap and what felt like a broken collarbone. At least she hadn't broken her neck; that would have been bloody hard to survive, especially if she fell unconscious and it healed backwards.

She said this aloud and began laughing hysterically.

"I'm stuck way the hell somewhere in Far Northwest, I'm temporarily crippled, and by the time I fix it I'll be so dry of magic you could use me as a mop!"

This made absolutely no sense, but Holly laughed until she started sobbing. And then she had to stop sobbing, because apparently she also had a cracked rib. This caused her to laugh, as quietly as she could, as she finished putting her bones back in their usual places.

"I shouldn't say this. I really shouldn't say it. Because of irony. The universe just likes watching things like this, I think. But," and here Holly looked up at the ceiling of the city, "Really, what could make this lovely evening worse?"

On cue, a swear toad hopped out of the darkness and snarled at her. "Shithead. Bitch. Arsehole."

"Thank you, Universe," Holly said, and giggled herself unconscious.

             =====

Blah. The things I do for you people.


End file.
